The Gloaming
by gleefulmusings
Summary: The Twilight, that time when the world and its gods will fall, is coming. Kurt Hummel, cousin of the Charmed Ones, has a destiny to fulfill and, with his coven at his side, will lead his friends and family against the end of the world. An Angel/Buffy/Charmed/Glee/Supernatural Extravaganza.
1. Something Wicca Comes Again

**Author's Notes**: Please forgive me for the rather copious notes that preface this story, but I do believe they're necessary to make sense of the universe I'm attempting to create. First, this is a multiple crossover featuring the Angel, Buffy, Charmed, Glee, and Supernatural fandoms. Spoilers for the entirety of Angel, Buffy, and Charmed canons, save the comics. Spoilers for Season One only of Supernatural. As for Glee, spoilers for Seasons One and Two with a few caveats: most canonical couples never got together, Quinn was never pregnant, Kurt stayed with the Cheerios after leading them to victory, Sam was a mid-year transfer who joined the Titans and Glee during the middle of Season One, Kurt never went to Dalton (so there will be no Blaine), and New Directions placed second at Regionals but did not go on to Nationals.

As for magical powers, I will be using Charmed mythology. That is, the Charmed Ones are the most powerful witches in the world. Willow Rosenberg will be the most powerful among her own particular kind of witch, but she's not as powerful as the Charmed Ones or as Kurt. I'll also be taking liberties with the powers granted to some canonical characters.

This is going to be a very long story, as it incorporates four fandoms (five, if you count Angel and Buffy separately), and a plethora of characters. It will be slow-going. There will likely be a lot of exposition as I attempt to reconcile the tenets of the various fandoms.

* * *

><p><strong>May 2000<strong>

**Halliwell Manor**

**San Francisco, California**

Phoebe Halliwell stared off into space, one hand covering her mouth as she shook her head slightly, the headset nestled between her ear and shoulder. How could this be happening, _now_ of all times?

"Of course I understand, Burt," she murmured, desperately trying to will away the tears. "I'm so sorry we can't be there for you and Suzanne." She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. "And Kurt," she whispered, her breath slightly catching. "I'm just…so sorry."

She cleared her throat and nodded at whatever the man was saying, finally cottoning on to the fact that he couldn't actually see her acknowledgment of his words.

"Don't worry about Piper," she said softly. "I'll explain everything; she'll understand. The last thing you need to worry about right now is us. Just…take care of yourself, Burt, okay? Give our love to Suzanne and kisses to Kurty." She bit her lip and nodded. "Call us with any news, and I mean _any_ news, mister. You got me?" She ran a hand through her hair. "Goodbye, Burt."

She gently placed the receiver down on her desk and released a shuddering sob. She then quickly wiped her eyes and primly straightened the hem of her skirt, silently telling herself to get it together.

Her subconscious told her to shut the hell up.

She couldn't deal with this right now, not on top of everything else. Not when Piper was having a very polite breakdown which was sure to result in her going batshit crazy at the worst possible time; not when Cole was wanted dead by every demon in the underworld, and possibly by everyone who had ever existed; not when she looked at the dull, vacant stare in her father's eyes; not when she had a sister to bury.

She laughed out loud.

Prue. She needed Prue.

Prue would know what to do, always had. Prue had grabbed the world by its throat and throttled it into submission.

Except for the one time she couldn't.

Dead. Prue was _dead_.

It was strange how often she had to keep reminding herself of that fact. She would wake up and go downstairs and think to herself that Prue must have gotten up early and already left for the magazine.

Oh, wait. Prue was dead.

Or that Prue was running late on a shoot and would be tired and cranky when she finally walked through the door long after midnight, but would still sit up and tell them all about it as she ate a plate of Piper's white chocolate macadamia cookies and guzzled coffee like it was water. After all, she had to be back at the magazine in five hours.

Nope. Dead.

Why was Prue's car still in the driveway? She must have caught a cab. Prue didn't wait for anything, least of all a dead car.

Dead car. Dead Prue.

Dead, dead, dead.

She just wanted to hit something. Or someone. Anyone would do: Piper, Leo, Cole, Darryl. Dead sister.

Phoebe really wanted to hit Prue, preferably in the head. But she couldn't because Prue was dead.

She figured the more she reminded herself that Prue was dead, the sooner she would begin to believe it. She had taken enough psychology courses to understand that she was in Denial, while Piper had bypassed that stage and gone straight to Anger, throwing Bargaining and Depression into the mix when it suited. Phoebe actually would have preferred it if Piper lashed out, but that wasn't Piper's way. She would hold it in until she couldn't anymore, and then woe unto those who found themselves standing unceremoniously before her.

Only this time there would be no Prue to rein her in.

She would sometimes catch Piper staring at her from the corner of her eye, and she was pretty sure Piper was convinced the wrong sister had died. She didn't know if that were true, but it might have been, and that was all Phoebe needed to allow herself to feel the guilt and the pain and the sorrow that she had been trying to suppress since it happened.

And now Suzanne.

Phoebe sighed. There was nothing to do now but break the news to Piper.

She prayed to whatever sadistic gods were watching that there was wine in the house.

* * *

><p>Piper warily eyed the two wineglasses her sister carried into the room, not that she would refuse the glass once it was offered. She hadn't been blinding drunk since college and was in the mood to revive some traditions.<p>

Looking at the way Phoebe was patently avoiding her gaze, she knew she would not like whatever news her sister was about to deliver.

"I figured when they get here," Piper smoothly opened, "I could stay in your room and give them mine. That way we wouldn't have to disturb anything in…her room."

Christ, she couldn't even say her sister's name. That was just pathetic. Piper rolled her eyes at her own behavior and screamed silently in her own mind to grow up. She knew she was doing neither herself nor Phoebe any favors by being a basket case. Not to mention how Prue would react if she peeked down and saw her acting like a maudlin teenager.

She had always wished she had been more like Prue and found that desire returning full-force. It wasn't that Prue was emotionless or prone to denial, but she'd had an uncanny ability to suppress her feelings and deal with situations in a logical, rational manner. Of course, Prue had suffered in silence for so long that her pain eventually became a part of her, particularly in the way she would distance herself from other people, even her own family.

Still, there was something to be said for being functional, whereas Piper felt that if she started screaming out loud, she'd never stop.

"Piper," Phoebe said.

And she understood. "They're not coming," she said flatly, grinding her teeth and shaking her head. "Look, I get that Burt is uncomfortable with magic, but this is ridiculous. We're the only family Suzanne has, and Kurt adored Prue." A brief smile flashed across her face. "I swear, I thought when they visited that Prue wasn't going to give Kurt back."

She winced. Prue would never have children. That was just so _wrong_.

Prue would have been an amazing mother. Watching her with Kurt had been a revelation. She'd never seen her sister so relaxed, so comfortable in her own skin. Kurt would look up at her with those huge eyes of his, and Prue had melted, melted, melted until she was nothing but a big pile of goo. Prue had swatted Phoebe when the girl had called her on it, but she hadn't denied it either.

Phoebe looked down at her hands, clasped together so tightly her knuckles had turned white. "Suzanne's in the hospital, Piper. It…it's not looking good."

Piper stared blankly into space and said nothing.

Phoebe waited to speak further, looking for some cue from her sister, but when none was forthcoming she continued. "Suzanne was pregnant…"

_Was_.

"There were complications. After they rushed her to the hospital, they did an ultrasound and found," she swallowed heavily, "several tumors." She sighed. "Stage four ovarian cancer. They wouldn't even have known if not for the miscarriage." She fiddled with her earring and looked away. "That was three weeks ago. It's only a matter of days."

Piper snorted. "Well, that's just great. Terrific! That pretty much takes care of our entire family, doesn't it? Prue's gone. Grams and Mom have been dead for years. Dad shows up when he feels like it." She picked at her cuticles. "Suzanne was the only Warren witch left other than us, and it looks like the curse is about to take her too." She growled. "I want to summon Melinda's ass and then beat her to death again for what she's done to this family."

Phoebe closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. "Piper," she said halfheartedly.

"Save it," Piper snapped. "We're all we have now, Phoebe. Burt will never let us see Kurt again, and without Suzanne in the picture, Kurt will grow up ignorant of magic. He won't remember Suzanne having powers. We're _alone_."

"Kurt isn't a witch, Piper."

"We don't know that," she argued. "Suzanne never said one way or the other. If you'll remember, she always changed the subject whenever we tried to question her about whether he was magical."

"Warren witches are female."

Piper snorted. "According to Grams, who hated all men with a passion."

Phoebe shrugged. That was true enough, she supposed. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility for Kurt to be magical. "If he does have powers, I'm sure he'll be assigned a whitelighter."

Piper harrumphed. "The bottom line is that Burt will make sure Kurt has nothing to do with us." She held up a hand to forestall the interruption. "Don't put words in my mouth, Phoebe. I know that Burt likes us and considers us part of his family, maybe even loves us in some way, but he doesn't like magic. I don't blame him for it either. It's certainly cost the two of us more than enough. He'll probably reach the conclusion that having us involved in Kurt's life would be dangerous. And he's not wrong."

"He's not," Phoebe softly agreed. "That was the reason Grams bound our powers, after all." She sighed. "I just feel so badly for the little guy, Piper. Burt told me that he'd explain to Kurt about Prue, but it's going to break his itty bitty heart. Kurt all but worshipped Prue, and having to deal with that on top of losing his mom and his sister? He's only _six_."

"The same age Prue was when we lost Mom," Piper whispered.

Phoebe startled and turned horrified eyes on her sister. God, was it ever going to stop? How much more was their family expected to sacrifice? How much more did they have to give? They'd lost their mother, their grandmother, their sister, and now their only cousin. Another Warren child was losing his mother. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_.

And for _what_? The demons weren't going to halt their attacks. If anything, now that the Power of Three was broken, they would become more relentless than ever. How were they supposed to survive without Prue? Leaving aside the very real and terrifying notion that their eldest sister, the one who had all but raised them and kept them safe, was gone, they were now sitting ducks for any demon who wanted to make their reputation by taking out the two remaining Charmed Ones.

Not that they were Charmed any longer. Phoebe realized that, as only Piper had active powers, she would be the next logical target. If the demons managed to defeat her, Phoebe herself would be easy pickings. They still had Leo and Cole, but Leo was limited as to what he could do in their defense and Cole himself was as much a target as she and her sister, if not more. Great.

She picked up her wineglass and threw it across the room, roaring like a wounded lion. "This _sucks_!" she shrieked.

Piper chuckled hollowly. "This is our life."

* * *

><p><strong>May 2000<strong>

**St. Rita's Medical Center**

**Lima, Ohio**

Burt didn't know how the hell to break this to his wife; he couldn't even explain it to himself.

Prue Halliwell was dead. Murdered.

He hadn't known her well, despite the fact that the woman had been a member of his wife's extended family, some distant cousin or something; Burt didn't really understand all of the degrees, not that it mattered. Suzanne had loved Prue and her sisters endlessly, and that love was fully returned.

The Charmed Ones.

He hadn't appreciated that for what it was, even after Suzanne had explained it to him in painstaking detail. It was one thing to know of magic, but another matter entirely to accept it.

The fact that Suzanne's powers were defensive, rather than offensive, had allowed him to linger in denial. He didn't see magic or have to deal with it on a regular basis, so he happily pretended that it wasn't real, just a quirk. There was no danger. There were no demons. His family was safe.

The only intrusion into this carefully-maintained delusion was Cassie, Suzanne's whitelighter. Watching someone materialize in front of you in your kitchen wasn't something you could just explain away. Still, as Lima had little to offer the plethora of demons who roamed the earth – hell, Lima didn't have much to offer its mortal residents – and Suzanne wasn't really an active participant in the supernatural world, the fact that his wife had been born into a legacy he couldn't even begin to contemplate was relatively easy to ignore.

Then he had taken his wife and son to San Francisco so that Suzanne could introduce Kurt to what little family he had, and everything changed.

It had been fine, initially. He liked the sisters and loved the Manor, appreciating its architecture and grandeur. Piper was an amazing cook and a truly lovely woman; she seemed well matched with Leo, though it was odd to consider a witch and whitelighter together in that way. Phoebe was saucy and funny and the life of the party. They doted on Kurt, to whom they were virtual strangers, and Burt had been stunned to see his normally shy and reserved son come alive in their presence. That alone had been worth the price of airfare.

Burt had been most impressed with Prue, however, as had Kurt. Prue was blunt, no-nonsense, and would kill anything which threatened her family. These were traits Burt Hummel deeply admired, and he had found himself considering her as something of a kindred spirit. He had believed they might become great friends, and hey had.

He had been shocked that Kurt was most taken with Prue. She had simply adored him.

It had somewhat upset him; he and Prue were so similar in personality, yet she had bonded with his son, while Burt himself had not. Kurt had always preferred his mother's company over that of everyone else, including his father. It was very difficult to bear, believing your own child hated you.

Actually, Burt had believed hate would have been preferable. Kurt had always seemed utterly indifferent to him. He loved his son with everything inside him. He would do anything for Kurt, would gladly kill for him, but, for some reason, Kurt always appeared reticent to be alone with him, as though he were scared of his own father.

Why? What had he done, or not done, to his child?

Suzanne had always tried to play the peacemaker, facilitating negotiations and creating events that would unite them as a family. Kurt never fought her, was never belligerent or difficult. In fact, he was such an exceedingly polite child that it was rather disconcerting. He was never interested in the activities of children; in truth, he didn't seem to like other children and went out of his way to avoid them. He preferred reading, and his reading material was at least ten years above his age level. When Burt had walked in on him reading _The Scarlet Letter_, Kurt was able to describe in detail the meaning and symbolism of the story, as well as offer a feminist semiotics commentary.

And then Burt had realized that perhaps it was he who was afraid. Afraid of what Kurt was, what he would become. His child was brilliant, there was no question. He had seen hints of it. Kurt had begun walking at seven months, his large eyes taking in his surroundings with an almost calculating air. He had been late speaking, but once he started, he not only spoke in full, grammatically-correct sentences, but entire paragraphs. By the time he was two, his vocabulary was that of a fourth-grader and it improved at a rapid pace.

He had taught himself to read six months later. He followed along as Suzanne read to him until he had memorized the stories. He then was able to match up the words to his memories of where they were placed within the story. He hadn't used phonics; it was rote memorization and phonetics.

When Kurt was three, thanks to a series of videocassettes he had insisted his parents purchase, he could hold rudimentary conversations in both French and Spanish and wished to add Chinese to his repertoire. Unfortunately there were no videocassettes for that particular language, so he had settled for Italian, to which he took like a duck to water.

It was intimidating. Burt Hummel was intimidated by his three year old son. His wife thought it was hysterical. At first.

The further the distance grew between Burt and his son, the angrier Suzanne became. Burt grew frustrated; he loved his child more than life itself, but that love wasn't returned. He had accepted that Kurt was different, unique, and enjoyed a special relationship with his mother.

Kurt was the essence of a mama's boy and Burt didn't have a problem with that. He had been closer with his own mother than he ever had been with his father and had vowed not to repeat with his own child the mistakes his father had made with him. He had failed, somehow, though he had comforted himself with the knowledge that Kurt was distant with everyone but his mother.

Until they had gone to San Francisco and Kurt fell in love with the Halliwell sisters.

Burt had pouted and been resentful until Suzanne had literally knocked some sense into him, explaining that Kurt removed himself from his father's company because he sensed Burt's discomfort with him. Kurt believed his father didn't like him, so he sought to make it easier for Burt by not trying to interact with him. Burt had sobbed for an entire day.

Prue had come to his rescue.

She had stormed into the guest room, forced him to eat and to shower and then sat him down and explained a few things, the most shocking of which was that she believed Kurt was probably gay.

He had scoffed and railed against her, insisting Kurt was too young to be anything. But then he had thought about it, of the signs that had been there that he had willfully ignored, and he started to realize Suzanne had been right. Kurt knew he was different and believed his father didn't like the fact that he was, so the little guy tried to stay out his sight lest he anger him all the more.

Kurt believed his father hated him for something he didn't understand and couldn't control.

It had been devastating. It wasn't that Burt was angry, though he was disappointed; he was frightened. He didn't know anything about gay people - if he had ever met one, he was ignorant of the fact - but he knew how the world would treat his son, how he would be perceived, and the dangers that existed in the world for gay people. He had no idea what would befall his child in Lima, but sensed it wouldn't be good.

Prue had dragged Burt and his son down to the Haight. It had been quite an education.

Burt had seen men walking hand-in-hand, women lovingly attending to each other, and he felt completely out of his depth. Prue had introduced him to several of her gay friends, all of whom worshiped her and had been captivated by Kurt: his clothes, his poise, his intelligence and wit. Kurt had fit in there. The shy, reserved child had come to sparkling life in their company.

His singing voice, already so remarkable, so crystalline and pure, had enthralled his small audience, several of whom congratulated Burt on his amazing child, insisting that Kurt was in possession of a gift that had to be cherished and nurtured.

They had given him advice, all of which he had desperately needed to hear. They told him about books he should read, about organizations and hotlines and support groups. It had all boiled down to one simple tenet: love your child regardless. It was such an innocuous truth, so simple, that he had blinded himself to it. He loved Kurt more than life itself. He just had to find a way to show his son that, to connect with him.

Prue had explained further about their magic, about how the Charmed Ones operated. Their powers came from their emotions, their connection to each other as sisters. In the end, the magic itself was irrelevant; it was the love which allowed them to triumph. All Burt needed to do was tell Kurt that he loved him. He just didn't know how to go about it.

Prue had rescued him once more, albeit unwittingly. Her car had broken down in the driveway and she had asked Burt to take a look at it to see if she should call a tow truck. She had shepherded Kurt with them for, by then, he had all but attached himself permanently to her leg. Burt had looked the car over, poking and prodding, and finally Prue had demanded he explain what he was doing. He did so, and a look of wonder had come over Kurt's face.

_It's like a puzzle_, the boy had said. _Daddy solves puzzles_.

Burt's eyes had widened and locked with those of Prue. She had passed Kurt into Burt's arms and the man explained to his son everything he was doing, everything he was looking for, what was wrong, what was right, the names of the different parts and how they worked together.

Kurt had been utterly fascinated, questioning his father further, making connections faster than Burt could explain them. Once the problem had been identified, Kurt insisted on helping Burt with the solution. He handed him tools, again asking for names, explanations, and functions. Three hours later, the car was fixed, Prue had already left by taxi, and Suzanne was watching from the living room, tears streaming down her face.

Burt had finally connected with his child, his amazing, wonderful child who was so much more than the biological product of his two parents, a child who was so much more than a frightening intelligence or a sexual orientation or a polyglot.

All of Kurt's reserve had suddenly melted away and it was _Burt_ he followed and questioned relentlessly, wanting to know everything his father knew, wanting to know his _father_. Burt had been so happy, as happy as the day he married Suzanne and as happy as the day their child had been born.

The next day, demons attacked the Manor.

Burt hadn't known what to do, what was happening, how to protect his family. He watched, hidden in a corner and covering Kurt, as the sisters fought for their lives, for their family.

He had been in awe. He had known about magic, had thought he had understood it, but he had never seen it in action. The way the sisters worked in perfect synchronicity; the way they attacked and defended, moving as a cohesive unit and never losing sight of each other. It was beautiful, that obscene ballet of destruction. But then Phoebe had fallen, followed by Piper, and Prue was left to finish off the attackers.

And then a demon targeted Suzanne.

Suddenly Burt was flying through the air as Kurt burst out from behind him, screaming with rage, waving his hands and scattering all of the demons throughout the lower level of the Manor, inadvertently becoming a target himself. Three demons had maneuvered Prue into the conservatory and were keeping her so occupied she had no idea what else was going on in her house.

Five demons converged upon Kurt, who was standing before his unconscious mother and a barely-conscious Phoebe, a tiny child blazing defiance, his enormous eyes lighted with menace and rancor. He had waved small hands in a complicated choreography that only he understood - sending demons flying, falling, spinning - somehow knowing what they were planning before they even had the opportunity to implement it.

He had kept them on the defensive long enough for Phoebe to recover her wits and rouse Piper and they both began bellowing for Leo. He orbed into the Manor just as Prue burst in through the dining room like an avenging angel, only for both of them to stop and stare, befuddled, as Kurt continued his assault. Finally Piper managed to freeze the demons and the sisters cast a spell to vanquish them just as Kurt keeled over from exhaustion.

Burt had stood there, motionless, staring at his unconscious child as Leo rushed around to heal Phoebe and Piper. He made for Suzanne and Burt snapped out of his stupor long enough to scream for Cassie, unsure as to the whether the woman would respond to his call. His wife's whitelighter orbed into the room, bewildered and confused as she took in the scene. She raced for Suzanne and healed her, all while demanding explanations.

In the meanwhile, it was Prue who had stormed to Kurt's side, picked him up in her arms and held him tightly to her. She related the events, of Kurt's incredible power, of how he had protected her sisters and his mother, and that he shared her power; he was telekinetic, like her.

Kurt was a witch.

Suzanne had burst into tears, bawling, terrified for her child, knowing what an offensive power was likely to mean and not wanting this to be Kurt's life.

Leo had wanted to consult the Elders, but Cassie refused; she would not allow them to dictate Kurt's life. He was a child, all but a baby, and there was no grand destiny waiting for him. He wasn't Charmed and he wasn't a Halliwell.

Phoebe and Leo had protested, but Prue and Piper had leapt to Cassie's defense. Kurt would become a target for any demon that became aware of him. He was too young, far too young, to defend himself, and Suzanne had no offensive powers.

Phoebe had argued that Kurt should live with them, that they could protect him, and Suzanne had gone completely insane. She was not turning her child over to anyone, family or not. The sisters were attacked with regularity and often injured; they might have offensive powers and be Charmed, but they could no more protect Kurt than she could. If it became common knowledge that a magical child had come under the protection of the Charmed Ones, there would be no respite; the attacks would only increase.

Prue, Piper, Cassie, and Suzanne began screaming at Leo and Phoebe that this was not right, that Kurt was not ready, that it wasn't fair to him. And finally Burt had had enough.

His son was a witch. His son was enormously powerful. His son would be targeted by demons, and he would not allow that to happen. He wondered if Kurt was even aware of his powers, if he had known about them for some time, or if he had been so traumatized by the attack against his mother that he had simply surged forward to protect her, not even knowing if he was capable of doing so.

Burt Hummel could accept many things: magic was real; his wife was a witch; her cousins were the most powerful forces of Good in the world. Fine.

He could accept that his son was most likely gay; that, though they had faltered, his son loved him and they would forge an incredible relationship; that his son was the most important person in the world to him; that he would kill anyone or anything that dared to harm his wife or son. Absolutely.

He could accept that his son was a witch, that he was enormously powerful, that he had saved the lives of his family, and was more amazing than he had ever realized. Without question.

But one thing he could not accept, could not even posit, was his son being placed in danger.

No. Never.

He hadn't even been aware that he was relating these thoughts in a stream-of-consciousness narrative. Prue and Piper were nodding at his words, Suzanne softly murmuring her agreement with everything her husband said as Cassie watched her charge's husband with appraising eyes. Leo and Phoebe halfheartedly continued their protests, but had determined it was a lost cause.

They would bind Kurt's powers, Prue had said. There was a spell in the Book of Shadows, the same one Penny had used to bind their own powers after Patty's death. If Kurt knew he was magical, that knowledge would be erased from his memories after the spell.

Suzanne would have to be the one to cast it, as Kurt was her child. The sisters could do it themselves, but it would be more effective were Suzanne to perform the spell; as she had said earlier, Kurt was not a Halliwell, he was a Bowen. They were all Warren witches, but of different branches. Offensive magic wasn't required for the spell; Suzanne was a witch of the Warren bloodline and the Book would open for her, would reveal its secrets.

Suzanne had hastily agreed.

Prue had then added that Cassie should use Memory Dust on the Charmed Ones and on Leo so that they too would have no memories of Kurt being magical; only Burt, Suzanne, and Cassie would know. Kurt and Suzanne, other than the Charmed Ones, were the last remaining Warren witches. The Halliwell name carried more recognition and fear than any other in demonic circles, so much so that other branches of the Warren line had all but been forgotten. There was no need or reason to let anyone think differently.

The others had agreed, Leo and Phoebe reluctantly, and they decided to perform the spell immediately while Kurt was still unconscious, lest he try to fight them. Cassie would then orb the Hummels back to Lima before word could spread that the Charmed Ones were harboring a powerful magical child. There could be no more visits.

The sisters, all of them, had been crushed by the idea of being cut off from Kurt. There would be phone calls and emails and Christmas cards and pictures, of course, but it wouldn't be the same. They were so alone already, had always been such, and to have this taste of family, this connection, severed, was heartbreaking. Piper had been stalwart, Phoebe hysterical, and Prue, though outwardly cool and collected, had been devastated. So had Burt and Suzanne.

They had done the spell and returned to Lima before Kurt had awoken, Cassie leaving a letter for the sisters that demons had attacked them and the Hummels, and that the Cleaners had altered their memories so that magic would not be exposed.

The sisters had no idea what had occurred, only that Kurt had been placed in danger, they assumed, because of them, something which they would never again allow.

Kurt had never forgiven any of them. Not his parents, not the sisters, and not Cassie.

He had no memory of what had transpired, of what he had done, but a hole had been left, something for which his suppressed magic had desperately yearned. He had cried, sobbed, begged, whined, cajoled – all to no avail. He was allowed to speak with the sisters via the telephone, but eventually those conversations had tapered off, the girls too upset by Kurt's repeated pleas for them to allow him to visit. He had demanded to know what he had done wrong, how he had misbehaved, because he didn't remember saying goodbye or coming home.

No matter how many assurances they gave, no matter how often they told him that they loved him and missed him, no matter the number of birthday and Christmas presents they sent, he had continued to blame himself, so sure that he must have been at fault. The sisters hadn't known what to tell him, for they had no memory of the Hummel's departure either; they only knew, for some nebulous reason, that it was safer for Kurt to stay away from them. Finally, Kurt had refused to come to the phone when they called.

And, slowly, he had begun to change.

He was no longer shy, but his reserved nature reasserted itself with a vengeance. He was still polite, but he became cold and aloof. Burt and Suzanne never let a day, an hour, pass without telling him that they loved. He returned the sentiments, for they were true, but he remained distant.

They enrolled him in all kinds of lessons to distract him, to help him make friends, and sometimes it worked. He had hated the tap dancing, but excelled in ballet and gymnastics. He had refused to play soccer, but was passable at tennis and incredible on the ice rink.

Suzanne taught him the piano and drove him to Dayton twice a week for voice lessons. Burt took Kurt to the shop and taught him everything he knew about cars, and while their bond continued to grow and strengthen, Burt nevertheless remained cognizant of the chill in the air when the subject of the Halliwells came up.

By the time Kurt was ready to enter first grade, he had two friends - or BFFs, as he insisted his parents call them - Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce. They were always together: at lessons, at sleepovers, making sure their mothers shopped for groceries at the same time so they could run into each other.

They were inseparable, an unstoppable force, and Burt and Suzanne couldn't have been more pleased, loving the girls as if they were their own. Kurt was held in the same regard by the Lopez and Pierce families. Burt and Suzanne had been slow to recognize this new dynamic for what it truly was.

Kurt had created for himself a Power of Three.

Santana, the eldest by mere weeks, was so much like Prue in personality that it was eerie. She was devoted to Kurt and Brittany and fiercely protective of them, almost as though they were her own children. Brittany, the youngest, recalled Phoebe: sweet, pleasant, fun-loving, and whimsical. She could always make Santana laugh or snap Kurt out a funk. Kurt, like Piper, was the middle child, and took to that role with abandon. He was the nurturer, the caretaker, and the peacemaker during the group's rare disagreements.

The only difference between Kurt's friends and the Charmed Ones was that, while Prue was the unquestioned leader among her sisters, Santana was merely a figurehead. She outwardly took the lead in public, but behind the scenes, Kurt held all the power and the girls happily deferred to him.

Burt knew how badly his son would need his friends in the coming weeks, months. Perhaps years. He could only hope Kurt would allow Santana and Brittany to help him.

* * *

><p>Suzanne drew in a shaky breath, the morphine easing her pain but not the symptoms of the disease which was ravaging her body. Her hand rested in that of her husband and she laced their fingers together, palms pressing tightly.<p>

"Tell me," she whispered. "Whatever it is, Burt, tell me."

He swallowed heavily, his heart in his throat, not wanting to comply but knowing he must.

"Please," she begged.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Prue is gone, Suzie."

Suzanne blinked owlishly, certain she had misheard. "What do you mean gone? Has Prue been taken? Kidnapped?"

"She was murdered, Sue. Prue is dead."

"No," she breathed, her eyes wide and filled with horror. This couldn't be happening. This absolutely could _not_ be happening.

"Phoebe called me," he continued. "The funeral is tomorrow. I had to explain why we couldn't attend. She…" He shook his head. "It's bad, honey. It's so bad. I've never heard her sound like that. Piper…is not dealing with things very well."

"Oh, dear god. Oh, Jesus," Suzanne babbled, shifting restlessly in her uncomfortable hospital bed. "How did it happen? Who did it?"

Burt frowned and again shook his head. "Some demon," he grunted. "Must have been pretty damn powerful to take out Prue Halliwell. He's still on the loose. Phoebe said she was sure that she and Piper were still in danger. I can't remember his name. Something stupid like Shasta or Saxophone."

"Shax," she murmured. "Oh, sweet Lord. It was Shax."

He nodded warily. "That was it. Who the fuck is this demon, Sue?"

She stared up into his eyes. "He's the personal assassin of the Source."

His eyes widened.

She nodded. "You know what this means. The Source is going on the offensive. Phoebe was right; she and Piper are not safe. None of us is."

"What do you mean?" he nervously asked.

"With Prue's death, the Power of Three is broken. Piper and Phoebe are no longer Charmed." She shook her head. "They're still powerful, probably two of the most powerful witches in existence, but they're also sitting ducks. I read through the Book, Burt. The spell to vanquish Shax is a Power of Three spell. Without Prue, they can't cast it, and nothing else will kill him. He's relentless; he won't stop until he kills them both. With the Charmed Ones gone, with the Halliwell line extinguished, that makes it open season on all witches."

"But Lima's off the radar," Burt said, confused. "We've never seen a demon here. There's never been an attack. Kurt is safe."

"Is he?" she challenged. "When I die…"

"Stop it."

"Listen to me, Burt, this is too important!" She took a deep breath. "When I die, the spell will be broken and Kurt's powers will be unbound. I'll be gone; Prue is dead. The only ones who could cast the spell again are Piper and Phoebe, and we don't even know if they'll be alive to do it. Even if they were, would it be worth the risk to take him to San Francisco when the girls are being hunted by the assassin of the Source of All Evil? If you tried to bring them here, Shax would follow them. Kurt would be exposed and any number of demons could come after him."

"Shit," he hissed, closing his eyes.

"It might not even work," she added. "He's two years older, Burt. His powers may have been bound, but that doesn't mean they haven't grown. We don't know how powerful he is or how powerful he'll become, but even now he's certainly more powerful than me. He's a Warren witch. He has Prue's ability and you saw how strong she was. You have to remember the sisters had only had their powers for a _year_ when we were in San Francisco."

"Dear god," he whispered.

"We don't know if Prue was given new powers or what they were. All of them could have additional powers by now, and I can't even begin to think what powers Kurt might eventually receive."

"What are you saying?" Burt questioned, his eyes narrowed.

She sighed. "There's a lot you don't know, Burt. You never wanted to know, and I didn't want to tell you. Neither of us had any reason even to suspect that Kurt would be magical. We had four years with him before it presented itself and I've had two years to think about what it might mean." She shifted onto her side. "Burt, you have to know that his powers can't be bound forever. It's just not natural, and who knows what that would do to him. Even now, part of him must sense that something is wrong, that something is missing. That's probably why he was so hurt when contact with the sisters fell away."

He mumbled something incoherently.

"I should have been preparing him," she savagely muttered. "He doesn't even know I'm a witch, Burt. He's the last of the Bowen line and has no idea what that means, of the legacy into which he was born. That's _wrong_. I wanted to keep him safe, not ignorant."

"That was never my idea," Burt said carefully, doing his best to suppress his rising anger. "You know that I've never had a problem with you and Kurt being witches. All I've ever wanted was for you to be _safe_."

She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. "I know that, sweetheart. I wasn't blaming you. I just…thought I'd have more time," she gasped, eyes filling with tears. "This is the curse of my family, Burt. We leave. We leave our children far too soon. Kurt is now the age that Prue was when Patty died. Prue never got over it. I don't think Kurt will either."

Burt said nothing, but knew his wife was right. He had no idea how he was going to cope with Suzanne's death, let alone helping Kurt through it. "How do I help him?"

"By teaching him to help himself. You have to make him strong, Burt, even stronger than he already is. You must keep him in Lima, at least until college. He's safe enough here for now, but it's going to be hell for him."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on," she spat. "You know what this place is. You see the looks he already receives. It will only get worse. He's gay, Burt. Lima will not be kind to him, but it will keep him safe."

Burt was livid. "I don't give a good goddamn that he's queer. What the fuck difference does it make? So he likes boys instead of girls. Who cares?"

She raised a brow. "And what will you do if he falls in love, Burt? How will you react if he brings a boy home to meet you?"

"No," Burt declared with finality. "No boys. They'll want to touch him, put their hands on him. Fuck that. Kurt's not allowed to date until college."

She laughed. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" he demanded.

"Treating him like he's a girl."

"I am not!" he thundered. "Kurt's a boy, I know that, but he's my baby. He's my perfect, precious baby. I _know _boys, Suzie. I _was_ one, as we both well remember. You know what they say: boys marry their mothers and girls marry their fathers. Well, what if gay boys marry their fathers? I won't have him date someone like me! You know how I was! I won't have him…have him be…_defiled_!"

"Defiled?" she giggled, incredulous. "Oh, Burt," she groaned, shaking her head, "we both know that if he were straight, as soon as he hit fifteen you'd give him a box of condoms and tell him to be safe. And if I remember correctly, it was _me_ who defiled _you_."

"That's different," he mumbled, flushing.

"How?" she barked.

"He's so small, Sue. He's delicate. They could hurt him. What if they tried something and he couldn't stop them?"

She snorted. "Our son is many things, Burt Hummel, but delicate isn't one of them. He's cold, prissy, argumentative, and a hell of a lot smarter than a kid his age should be, but one thing he's not is _delicate_. You can't lock him in an ivory tower, Burt. You can't hide him away from the world, and if you try, I will haunt your ass until I drive you insane."

His eyes widened comically.

"You need to trust him, Burt," she said gently. "Trust him to make the right decisions. You have to guide him so that he's capable of making them. He already knows right from wrong, the difference between a lie and the truth. He knows to stay away from strangers, not to take their candy or get in their cars. But you can't protect him from everything. He'll want to date, Burt, and he absolutely has the right to do so. He'll want to find boys like him, boys who will like him. If you tell him he can't date, he'll resent you, go behind your back, and do it anyway. He'll think you find him objectionable or an abomination, and then you won't know what he's doing or with whom he's doing it. He'll never trust you."

"Maybe he'll be asexual," he said, voice filled with hope. "Maybe he won't even want to have sex. With anyone! Ever!"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," she moaned. "Grow up, Hummel. It's your responsibility to teach him how to value himself so that no one else undervalues him. I can only _dream_ he manages to find a man like you. You certainly don't want him to end up with someone like that little thug Noah Puckerman. You know what they say about opposites attracting."

Burt Hummel made a silent vow then and there to keep his son away from Puckerman at all costs.

"He loves you so much, Burt. You're his hero. Make sure you're worthy of that."

"He doesn't like me," Burt whispered.

"No," she fiercely denied. "He's not _like_ you. That's the difference. You don't have a lot in common, but you're family. You're connected. You have to make sure that connection remains strong. You can't allow yourself to bury your head in the sand. You can't ever make him feel as though he can't come to you, can't entrust to you his secrets, his fears, or his pain. Don't make him feel like he's less than what he is. He's gay, but he's a man. Treat him like a man, not some princess to be coddled. You're a damned good father, Burt Hummel. Trust in that. Believe in _that_, and everything will work itself out."

"How am I going to do this without you?" he wondered, tears streaking down his face.

"Because you have to," she answered simply. "There's no other choice. You're all he has left in the world, Burt, other than Brittany and Santana. Talk to the Lopezes and the Pierces. Let them help you, let them be there for you and Kurt. Don't remove yourself from the world. Because if you do and Kurt sees that, he'll follow that example. He'll isolate himself, push everyone away, including you, and he'll end up completely alone."

"I _won't_ let that happen," he vowed.

She smiled. "I know." She cleared her throat. "Now, as to other matters. Kurt will receive his powers, Burt, there's no way to stop it and there's little I can do to prepare you for that. I myself am unprepared. This was never supposed to happen."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Kurt is the first male Warren witch," she said. "The Warren magical line and all of its various branches have always been matrilineal. We've given birth to boys, of course, but none of them has ever been magical."

"Holy shit."

"Exactly," she nodded. "The Bowen branch has only ever possessed defensive magic, but Kurt has at least one offensive power: telekinesis. It's possible he will have more. He could also develop defensive powers. I simply don't know."

"How am I supposed to help him with magic?" asked an hysterical Burt.

"You can't, sweetheart," she said. "Even if I were here, I'd be of little help to him. I don't have offensive powers and would have no way to help him control his own. It will all be trial-and-error. Or trial-by-fire."

"What aren't you saying?"

"He'll only grow more powerful, Burt, and he'll eventually attract attention."

"You mean demons."

She nodded. "It's unavoidable. If we're lucky, it won't be until much later, after he has a handle on his powers. That's why I want you to keep him in Lima, under the radar, like you said."

"But what about his powers?"

Cassie orbed in. "I can help with that."

Burt eyed her. He liked Cassie, even loved her in some fashion. She had been a part of his life for as long as Suzanne had. He knew how much Cassie loved Sue and Kurt, that she would do anything for them, but part of him resented her presence now. He knew it was irrational. He knew she couldn't heal Suzanne of the cancer. She didn't have that power, and even if she had, the Elders would never have allowed it. Suzanne hadn't been harmed by evil, but by her own body. Still, Cassie reminded him of what he was about to lose, of what he had already lost.

The sonogram had shown the baby Suzanne had carried was a girl. A daughter he had never seen, would never know, but mourned as if she had died in his arms.

Kurt had been inconsolable. It was harder for him to process that he had lost his sister than it was that he was losing his mother, even though he had effectively already lost them both. Burt didn't know how to help him. Cassie had tried, but it was difficult for her to be around Kurt and not tell him everything she knew about who he was and what he could do. She wanted to protect him, of course, but it was in her nature to want to guide him.

"You're going to be his whitelighter, Cass?" Suzanne asked.

"No," Cassie said. "I wish I was. I would love the chance to stay with him and watch him grow into the incredible man I know he is going to become, but I'm not the right one. I asked, but the Elders said no. There's another."

"Who?" Burt asked, voice laced with suspicion.

Prue Halliwell orbed in.


	2. Future Consequences

**May 2000**

**St. Rita's Medical Center**

**Lima, Ohio**

Burt and Suzanne gaped at Prue, who looked a curious mixture of triumphant and inconsolable.

"You're dead," Burt whispered.

She nodded. "Still am, but I've been upgraded."

Suzanne had absolutely no idea how she was expected to react to this revelation. Prue was her cousin and she loved her, but not a moment earlier she had been struggling to accept the almost impossible idea that Prue – Prue Halliwell, Charmed One – had been murdered by the personal assassin of the Source of All Evil. She hadn't been able to say goodbye, wouldn't be physically allowed to attend the funeral or comfort Prue's sisters, and was facing her own death.

And now Prue stood before her, healthy and whole, ready to serve as Kurt's whitelighter. A part of Suzanne was thrilled; if anyone would be able to care for Kurt and guide him, it would be Prue, especially since they shared a power. Hell, it had taken almost everything the Source had to get rid of her and Suzanne knew Prue would protect Kurt at all costs.

And therein lied the problem. Prue was technically dead, and newly dead at that. Suzanne believed that Prue deserved to be mourned properly, to be allowed the time to mourn what had been stolen from her. And what about Piper and Phoebe?

Perhaps she was also slightly bothered by the fact that while she loved and trusted Prue, her cousin nevertheless had been killed by a demon, so how could she truly feel comfortable leaving Kurt in her care? It was selfish, she knew, and guilt wracked her.

"I don't understand," she said, somewhat belligerently.

Prue smiled wryly. "Well, that makes two of us. I've had it explained to me at least three times and I still don't really get it myself."

"Which is why you shouldn't have been given this assignment," Cassie sniped.

Prue rolled her eyes. "Not this again," she muttered under her breath. She shook her head and looked at Cassie. "Look, honey, it wasn't my decision, but I'm here and I'm not leaving, so you need to get over it. I'm sorry you're losing your charge, but in case you missed the memo, Suzanne is _my_ cousin, my _family_."

"And you just had to have Kurt too, right?"

Burt and Suzanne exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Are you serious right now?" Prue barked. "There's a little boy who's about to lose his mother, and you want to stand here and whine because he's not going to be named your charge? Newsflash, lady, you're _not_ his mother. You're not his _family_."

"He barely knows you!" Cassie protested.

"He knows me well enough," Prue argued, "and his magic recognizes mine."

"You're dead! You don't have any magic!"

"Wrong."

"What?" Suzanne asked, blinking owlishly. "You mean your whitelighter powers?"

Prue grimaced and tried to think of a way out of this, before deciding it couldn't be helped.

"The Elders assigned you to Kurt?" Burt asked her, still trying to make sense of this drama unfolding at the foot of his dying wife's hospital bed. From what he knew of the Elders, they wouldn't do this out of the kindness of their hearts. They had put the sisters through hell, so why were they so keen on helping Kurt? Why would they assign his cousin to be his magical guardian? There was some agenda at work, he knew it.

Prue smirked. "No. I was assigned to be Kurt's whitelighter, but I'm not under the purview of the Elders."

Cassie stilled. "That's not possible."

"All things are possible."

"Who sent you?" Burt demanded.

Prue stared at him before her gaze slowly slid towards her cousin. "I'm an agent of the Powers That Be. I'm technically a whitelighter, but I've also retained my Wiccan powers."

Suzanne paled far beyond what the cancer had already leeched from her skin. "Oh, god. What do they want with him?"

"The Powers That Be What?" asked a confused Burt, incognizant of his wife's question.

Prue gave him an indulgent smile. "I'll explain everything, but first Cassie has to leave."

"Absolutely not," the other whitelighter spat.

"This doesn't concern you." Prue snapped, growing angrier. "I understand that you love this family, Cassie, and I respect that. Suzanne won't be taken from you before you're allowed to say goodbye, but there is far more at work here than you know. I can't risk the Elders finding out and interfering – and you know they will. They're angry this was taken out of their hands. They know that I'm Kurt's whitelighter and that I don't answer to them, but they don't know _why_. They _can't _know. This is too important, Cassie. _Kurt_ is too important."

Most of the wind left Cassie's sails. "They'll find out anyway."

Prue nodded. "They will eventually. Even were I not in the picture, they'd find out the moment Kurt's powers were unbound. But their knowledge is now limited and will remain such. They'll try to interrogate you, but there's nothing you can tell them other than what they already know. That's for your protection as well as Kurt's. The Elders would try to recycle you."

Cassie paled. She couldn't even conceive of any circumstance why that outcome would be considered, but she could tell that Prue wasn't lying; her fear and concern, both for Kurt and Cassie herself, was real.

"This ultimately does not concern the Elders," Prue said, "and they will be made to understand and accept that." She shrugged. "They really don't have a choice. The consequences would be too severe."

Cassie stared at her. "What _are_ you?"

"I'm beyond you. Don't try to understand it; you're not ready yet. One day you will be and then I will come for you, but today is not that day."

"You're here for Kurt," Cassie said slowly.

"Yes."

"He's important."

"Far more than you or anyone else yet realizes."

"You'll protect him?"

"No matter the cost." She hesitated a moment. "You kept him off their radar once before, Cassie," she said in a low voice. "I need you to do it again. I need all the time you can buy me."

Cassie nodded, blew a kiss to Suzanne, and orbed out.

Prue cleared her throat, held out a hand, and sealed the door to Suzanne's room. "Brace yourselves," she said to them. "There's a lot to tell."

* * *

><p>"I feel like I should give you my condolences on your, uh, death," Burt said to Prue, who smiled.<p>

"I sure didn't see that one coming." She shrugged. "Maybe Phoebe would have, but she was in the Underworld at the time."

"The _what_?"

Prue raised an eyebrow and turned toward Suzanne. "How much have you told him?"

"Not nearly enough," a pained Suzanne whispered. "It never seemed relevant." She shrugged. "Who am I? I'm not a Halliwell or a Charmed One. I'm just me."

Prue scoffed. "Well, _just you_ is pretty damn spectacular in your own right, and if you undercut yourself that way again, I'll knock you out, cancer or not."

Burt tried to swallow his snicker but ended up snorting instead. Suzanne rolled her eyes.

"But your son, Suzanne…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "You couldn't have known, no one knew, but Kurt is important. Extremely important, much more so than me, you, or any other witch."

"What?" Suzanne demanded. "You're a Charmed One, Prue!"

Prue shrugged. "Not anymore. Now I'm a whitelighter. Well, I'm still a witch. I guess I need a new title." Her brow furrowed. "How does witchlighter sound?"

"Lame," Burt said.

She nodded. "I agree."

"Prue," Suzanne said through gritted teeth, "what about your sisters? Shax is still after them. The Power of Three is broken."

Prue's eyes filled but she blinked the tears away. "It's not. It will be reconstituted."

Suzanne screwed up her face. "What the hell are you talking about? That's not even possible, unless…" Her eyes widened. "Unless…"

Prue nodded. "There's another sister, my baby sister. She's a half-sister, strictly speaking, one I didn't know about and who I'll never get to meet. Her name is Paige; she's Mom's daughter with her whitelighter, Sam. She was given up for adoption to protect her from the Elders." She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at the floor. "Piper cast a spell. She wanted to see me again, so she called for a lost witch. She got Paige. Or she will soon."

Suzanne shook her head dumbly.

"Why can't you meet her?" Burt gently asked. "Paige, I mean."

Prue snorted. "The Elders. They can't keep me from Kurt, but they can keep me from my sisters. Piper and Phoebe are not allowed to summon me. The Elders had Grams tell them it was because they need to accept my death, accept Paige as their sister, but that's not why. It's punishment."

"That's disgusting," Suzanne hissed.

Prue made a strangled noise. "But they can do it, and there's no end run I can make around them.

"It's actually rather ingenious. When I died, the Power of Three _was_ broken. Piper tried so hard to bring me back, to speak with me again, that she inadvertently reactivated the Power of Three with Paige in my place. I'm still their sister, I still have my powers, but I'm no longer their sister _witch_. I'm not Charmed, and I no longer fulfill the hallmarks of the prophecy."

She sighed. "The Elders are petty and stupid, and I think this will actually make it worse for my sisters in the long run, Piper especially. She won't accept my death anytime soon. She'll become me, the leader of the family, cold and hard like I know I am. Phoebe will become Piper, the middle child, the peacekeeper, and Paige will feel completely out of her depth, made to feel as a replacement for a person she's never known and trying to fill my shoes rather than her own. It's short-sighted and dangerous. The Elders are spiting me, but could end up hurting so many people and they don't _care_."

Burt curled a lip. He was offended for her and her sisters, even Paige.

"Still," Prue said, "I can understand the necessity if not the process. As much as the Elders believe they control so many things, they don't control Magic; it's a force unto itself. We don't know what would happen if my sisters could summon me at will, especially with Paige in the picture. If they made me corporeal with my powers still active, there would technically be two Power of Threes: Piper, Phoebe, and me, which is no longer Charmed; as well as Piper, Phoebe, and Paige, the new Charmed Ones. I'm not Charmed, but I'm a Warren witch with the prophesied power, the same one Paige will possess, if not the same manner.

"Who knows how Magic would react, how it would differentiate between the subsets? It could cause one or all of us to lose our powers, and then the Power of Three would be irrevocably broken. There simply can't be two Powers of Three existing in the same time and place."

"That doesn't preclude Piper and Phoebe from summoning you as a ghost," Suzanne argued. She was pissed and thought the Elders were idiots. She narrowed her eyes. "They'll do it to me too, won't they? They'll make it so Kurt can't summon me after I die."

Burt's eyes widened. He had never considered the idea that his son would able to summon Suzanne, that the mortal parting they would soon be forced to endure wasn't permanent. And now that hope, he sensed, was about to be snatched from him.

"Probably," Prue softly admitted, "and they'll probably try to make it so that I can't either." Then she raised her head and they saw the sparkle in her eyes. "It won't work, of course, but even if it did, that doesn't mean another witch couldn't summon you."

Suzanne gasped. "What other witch? I know of no other witches in Lima."

Prue gave her a half-smile. "You hid yourself very well to protect your family, but they're here, loving you more than you could ever realize."

She stared. "I know them?"

Prue nodded. "Very well. Lydia Lopez and Ashley Pierce."

Burt and Suzanne exchanged shocked looks and then Suzanne turned back to face Prue, who nodded.

"Their daughters are witches, too, and Santana and Brittany will stand at Kurt's side resolutely. They are not only his best friends; they'll become his greatest allies."

* * *

><p>"Santana and Brittany are witches," Burt muttered.<p>

"They are," Prue confirmed, "and they're well aware that Kurt is one too, though they've been keeping that bit of information under their hats, from their parents and from Kurt."

"But how?" Suzanne asked. "The spell…"

Prue clucked. "One of Brittany's defensive powers is hypersensation. She can tell when a person or object is magical just by looking at them. She knew Kurt was a witch the moment she laid eyes on him, but also recognized his magic was bound. She didn't know why or what it meant, so she didn't say anything to him, but she did tell Santana, who decided it was best to keep it quiet until the situation explained itsel.

"Our spell bound Kurt's powers and removed the memories that he had them from Kurt himself, as well as me, my sisters, and Leo. Obviously, after I died and entered the afterlife, I remembered everything. I still contend we made the right decision. Were Piper and Phoebe to become aware that Kurt is magical, they would seek him out, desperate for any connection to what little family they have left."

She shook her head sadly. "That's too dangerous, and they'll be busy enough trying to teach Paige everything she needs to know in order to survive. The Source was actively hunting us before, but once he learns the Charmed Ones have been reconstituted, he'll redouble his efforts, especially since Paige is a novice. She's incredibly vulnerable, but I trust Phoebe and Piper to look out for her. Kurt is even _more_ vulnerable. He has to be kept away from them until the time comes when he's able to defend himself."

Burt understood her point and appreciated her desire to keep Kurt safe, even from his own family, but still felt she was underestimating his son. "He was able to defend himself well enough in San Francisco."

"That's the point," Prue said sharply, "he wasn't defending himself at all; he was defending his mother and my sisters. He had no conscious thought for his own personal safety. His trigger, like mine, is anger, and his rage at seeing his mother and cousins hurt caused his magic to overwhelm and seize control of him. He was operating solely on primal instinct and nothing else. It never occurred to him that he could have been hurt or killed. Even if it had, he wouldn't have cared. In that moment, all that mattered to him was protecting his family, even if it was at his own expense."

Burt swallowed heavily, proud of his son but terrified. Suzanne had tears rolling down her face.

Prue took a deep breath. "This is why the Powers wanted me with Kurt, to help him understand his magic and to make him recognize his limits. I didn't recognize my own until it was too late." She shook her head. "I don't know if my death could have been prevented, but I made mistakes. All of us did, including my mother. We took things for granted and thought we knew better, and didn't realize the impact it would have should one of us fall. And now the magical world has been thrown into chaos."

"But you're the Charmed Ones," Burt said.

Prue looked at Suzanne. "And Kurt is the Hand."

Suzanne bolted up from her bed. "No."

"What the hell does that mean?" Burt demanded. "The Hand of _what_?"

"I will not allow this, Prudence," she whispered darkly.

"I don't want this for him either, Suzie," Prue said quietly, "but it's not within our control. You know the prophecy." She averted her gaze. "And he fits more than one."

"Not my son. Goddamn it!" Suzanne screamed. "_Not my son!_"

* * *

><p>"One of you better tell me what the fuck is going on here," Burt seethed. "What the hell is my son?"<p>

"He's your son first and foremost, never forget that," Prue replied, "but he's also more. He's so much more."

"I can't believe this," Suzanne whispered, shaking her head. "Why him? Out of all the witches in this world, of this _time_, why does it have to be _him_?"

"We'll never know for sure," Prue said. "If the Powers know, they didn't tell me, but I honestly don't believe they know either. Like the Elders, they believe in their own omniscience, but they're sometimes just as blind as we are."

"Tell me!" Burt roared, standing up and kicking the chair out from behind him. "What the hell is happening to my son?"

"Kurt is powerful, Burt," Prue whispered. "Far more powerful than we realized, more powerful than that for which you ever could have prepared. The Charmed Ones were prophesied to be the most powerful witches in existence, but as a collective force. Singularly, me, Piper, and Phoebe are phenomenal, and together we were almost invincible." She paused. "Kurt is more powerful than me or my sisters."

She crossed the room to stand before him and stared up into his eyes. "Kurt Bowen Hummel, your son, will become the most powerful witch in the world."

His eyes widened, head shaking in denial or perhaps incredulity, as he staggered back against the wall and slid down to the floor, his head in his hands. Suzanne laid back in her bed, sobbing.

"Let the enormity of that statement wash over you," Prue quietly said. "You can try to deny it, try to fight it, but, in the end, you'll only be fighting your child. I don't want this for him any more than you do, any more than my mother wanted this life for my sisters and me, but it's out of our hands. Kurt was chosen by whatever power for whatever reason. All we can do is make sure he's kept as safe as possible, that he learns as much about his powers and how to control them as he can, and that anything that comes after him dies bloody."

Burt raised his head and nodded sharply. All of this shit, this magic shit, he didn't understand and didn't particularly want to. He didn't care how important his son was to the world or to Magic or to anyone other than himself and his wife. _That_ was all he knew: to keep his son safe.

"You have to tell us everything, Prue," he said stonily. "We need to know what we're up against, what Kurt will be facing."

"Along with Brittany and Santana," Suzanne whispered, voice shaky.

Burt winced. He couldn't even imagine those two little girls as witches, let alone powerful ones.

As if Prue read his mind, she held up a hand. "Let me put you at ease with that one," she said. "Do not underestimate those girls, Santana especially. Kurt may be powerful, but Santana is _fearsome_, especially in defense of her friends."

"And Brittany?" Burt asked.

"She's vulnerable," Prue confessed, "due to the nature of what she is. She has no offensive powers and never will, but her defensive powers are incalculable. She will prove to be invaluable to Kurt."

"What are they?" Suzanne asked. "Her powers, I mean."

"She's an Oracle."

Suzanne's eyes bulged. "That…makes so much sense, why she always appears to be off in her own world. She _is_. She sees…_everything_."

Prue nodded gravely. "It's a tremendous gift and a horrible responsibility. She will need Kurt and Santana as much as they need her."

"And Santana's powers?"

Prue smirked. "I can't say just yet, there's too much at stake, but they're a doozy."

Suzanne pursed her lips. "What about Kurt's powers? We know he's telekinetic, but there's more, isn't there?"

Prue took a deep breath. "A lot more. He has the potential for many powers, but which ones will ultimately be given to him is anyone's guess. He'll receive them as he can handle them, but they're about equal in number in terms of offense and defense. He already has two active powers, as well as a passive one."

She looked at Burt. "You were the only one in the room who was conscious when Kurt attacked those demons. What do you remember most about it?"

Burt frowned and went over the assault step-by-step in his mind. "His control startled me. He knew exactly what he was doing, but as you already explained, he was operating on instinct; it was unconscious." His frown deepened. "But the _way_ he attacked them, as if he knew what they were about to do before they did it…"

Suzanne closed her eyes. "He's telepathic."

Prue nodded.

"Holy shit," Burt murmured, running a hand over his face. "My boy can read minds?"

"Not as such," Prue said slowly, "but soon. As he grows, his magic will grow, and so will his individual powers. Right now, he's able to read thoughts in a very rudimentary form. Like his attack on the demons, his telepathy is instinctual. It isn't something he can access at will, which is a good thing. He will need to learn to control it and himself in order for him to shut out extraneous thoughts that are irrelevant. He will also need to learn focus, so that he can zero in on a target and read them when it's necessary."

"How can you help him with that?" Burt demanded. "You're not telepathic."

Prue shrugged apologetically. "No one can really help him with that, Burt. Even among those who have the gift, the amount of power they have and their reactions to it vary. Most of the work will have to be done by Kurt himself, alone. However, the one bright spot is that Santana is his anchor."

Suzanne's face blossomed with hope.

"What does that mean?" Burt asked.

"It means that Santana is the one mind he _can't_ read," Suzanne explained. "She's his eye in the hurricane. She will keep him anchored in this reality, to keep the thoughts from overwhelming him."

Burt sighed with relief. "That's good, I guess." He looked at Prue. "This all sounds like it was predestined or something. Sanny being my boy's anchor thing, Brittany needing their protection but offering the insight they'll need to do deal with this…whatever this is. You still haven't explained that part."

"In a moment," Suzanne said. "Kurt's defensive power?" she asked of Prue.

"First," Prue began, "Burt is right. This _was_ all predestined, and I will explain that, I promise. As for his passive ability," she looked at Suzanne, "I'm not the only one with whom he shares a power."

Suzanne threw her hands up in the air. "Great! So he's empathic too. That's terrific! Because everyone knows that telepathy and empathy go so _well_ together." She snorted derisively. "Tell me, Prudence, how long do you think he has before he's driven completely insane? How is a _child_ supposed to cope with being able to read the thoughts _and_ feelings of everyone he encounters?" She shook her head. "Fuck this. No, seriously, _fuck this_. I'll bind his powers again somehow. I'll write a spell to do it, or one to strip him of his powers altogether. I will _not_ allow this to be my son's life."

Burt's mind raced with the thoughts of what could happen, of what probably _would_ happen, and his wife's words echoed throughout his skull like ricocheting bullets at the same time another mystery was solved. His wife had been right two years ago when she said that Kurt had pulled away from him because the boy had known he made his father anxious and confused. They just hadn't realized that Kurt had been experiencing those emotions as though they were his own.

Jesus. His poor kid. All of that time Burt had believed his son didn't love him, when the truth was his boy had been trying to spare _his_ feelings, feelings neither one of them had understood. Kurt must have been so miserable, felt so unwanted, unable to differentiate the emotions from each other and from reality, yet his first instinct had been to protect his father, just as his offensive powers had first manifested in defense of his mother.

"Was the empathy blocked?" Burt asked in a rough voice. "Did the spell block that too?"

"I don't know," Prue murmured.

"So this could mean that all of my fear and anguish over slowly watching my wife die…my six-year-old son has been reading that from me? He's been feeling all of that on top of his own terror at losing his mother?" His eyes filled and he shuddered. "Oh god." He covered his eyes with a hand and howled brokenly.

This was too much, this was all too much. Kurt was just a child, a baby. These should not have been his gifts.

Prue remembered when she had temporarily become an empath, of how she had almost lost her mind, but she had learned to control it by necessity and knew that Kurt could as well. He was strong enough to do it and too strong not to.

"No, Burt," Suzanne said softly. "If his empathy was unbound, I'd be able to read _him_. At this point, he's okay, but once I die and the spell dissolves, he's going to be hit hard. There will be nothing you can do about that either, baby. You can't fix this one for him. He's going to need help and so will you, more than Prue or any of our friends can provide."

She laid her hand on his shoulder. "I want you to promise me right here and now that you will see to it that both of you seek counseling. From a professional. I know you hate the idea of psychology, but you have to do this for Kurt. He won't be able to move on unless you move with him, and I will not allow you both to move on in your own ways, only to move on from each other. So you're going to have to take the bull by the horns and deal with things as they come." She raised a brow. "_Everything_, Burt," she said harshly. "Do you hear me? Are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Promise me."

"I promise," he eventually said, reluctant to voice the words. He knew his wife was right, she always was, and he knew he had to agree to this not only for her peace of mind, but for their child's as well. But he didn't like it.

"I'll have Lydia make a referral," Suzanne said, "and Prue will make sure you follow through."

Prue nodded swiftly. "I will. As for what you said earlier, you're not able to strip Kurt's powers, Suzanne," she said in a steady voice. "His magic is more powerful than yours and would reject the intrusion. You bound them once after they first manifested, when they were still in their infancy, but that's no longer the case. Stripping his powers doesn't negate the prophecies or his role in them. All it would do is condemn him to an early grave. You _know_ that, Sue. You would leave him defenseless; they'll come after him anyway. Who he is cannot be kept secret forever. He will have enemies, yes, powerful ones, but he will also have allies. Don't discount them."

Suzanne laid back against her pillow and stared off into space.

Prue heaved a sigh and turned to Burt. "You know about the prophecy of the Charmed Ones, the one made by Melinda Warren."

He nodded.

"The two concerning Kurt are even older, made centuries ago before the Warren line was ever created. Melinda willed the Charmed Ones into existence, channeling her magic to exact vengeance and provide defenders to persecuted witches, but what Kurt is to become is far older. The prophecies concerning him were not made by witches, but by gods."

"That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard," Burt scoffed. "What, so Zeus came down on his thunderbolt two thousand years ago and pontificated about an adorable gay moppet from Lima, Ohio and how he was supposed to save the world?"

"It was Apollo, actually," Prue said smoothly, "and he didn't come down from Olympus as such, but rather spoke through the Pythia, his oracle. Of course, it was merely a repeat of a prophecy which had been made millennia before in Babylonia. And India. And Assyria. And Judea. And Japan." She turned to her cousin. "He's in the Sybilline Books, Suzanne, as well as the Akashic Records."

"Oh my god," the woman whispered, gagging.

"I'm starting to get the picture," a nauseous Burt mumbled. Holy fuck, now they were dealing with ancient gods? Was Xena going to pop up next? "What do these prophecies say?"

Prue crooked her finger and a chair flew across the room. She gracefully plopped down into it and exhaled. "There a lot to this. I know you want me just to get to the point, but if I do that without preparing you, without explaining what's come before and how we arrived here, it will do little good. So I'm asking you for patience. Some of this Suzanne, I assume, will already know. However, much of this will be information of which most mortals, most humans, are unaware. We need to keep it that way."

Burt nodded warily. Suzanne merely sighed.

"Okay, cousins," she smiled grimly, "here's a brief history of the true nature of our world."

* * *

><p>"I don't want this to get too esoteric," Prue opened, "but a certain amount of metaphysics is required in order for any of this to make sense."<p>

Burt rolled his eyes impatiently.

"This world, what we call Earth, was created by an essence humans have colloquially termed God."

His head abruptly pulled back and he stared at her. "God is real?" he asked reverently.

Prue hesitated. She had the sense that no matter what she said, Burt would not be pleased. The truth did not mesh with his idea of God, a God at which he was already angry for slowly taking his wife from him. She also had the feeling that, despite her cautioning words, he would interrupt her continually, thus drawing this out far longer than necessary.

"God exists," she acknowledged, "but not in any form that has been popularized. What we would call God is, as I said, an essence, a consciousness that wields tremendous power, power which was used to create this world and the life forms that would eventually evolve into animals and humans." She gave him a measured look. "Do not mistake that for anymore than what it is. This power is not benevolent or malicious; it just _is_."

Burt was obviously struggling to reconcile that information in his own mind, and before he had a chance to argue or refute her claim, she barreled ahead.

"The creation of the planet exhausted this essence and it dwindled in a coma-like state for literally _thousands_ of millennia. During this time, the earth was overrun with demons. Geomantic lines of power crisscross the globe and, in certain places, that power collects and builds exponentially, creating surges of supernatural energy which can be harnessed by those who know how. The worst of these places, the most dangerous, cause the barriers between worlds and dimensions to thin, allowing demons entrance. These spots are called Hellmouths."

She paused, knowing this was a lot to take in. "With me so far?"

Burt nodded robotically, too enthralled with her tale to dispute it or even rationalize it. Suzanne raised a brow. As Prue had said, most of this information was somewhat familiar, though she was being given far more detail than she could have ever imagined.

"The active Hellmouth is located in a small town called Sunnydale, in Southern California, about two hours north of Los Angeles. Its Guardian is the current Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers."

Burt blinked. "I'm sorry, the current _what_?" He turned to Suzanne, who shrugged helplessly. She'd never heard of any such thing.

Prue couldn't blame them. Until a few days ago – she guessed it was days; time passed so differently there, wherever the hell she had been – she had never known anything about the Slayer or her Calling.

"Don't worry, I'll come back to the Slayer, but we need to get through other things first. As I said, the worst of these places of mystical convergence are Hellmouths and the active one is in California." She hesitated. "There's also a nascent one, and though it won't be an issue for years, I can't in good conscience not tell you. It's Cleveland."

"Shit," Burt hissed, frantically shaking his head. "I know what we discussed, Sue," he said to his wife, "but I can't. I can't have Kurt anywhere near a place like that. We'll have to move."

"That's exactly what you _shouldn't_ do," Prue interrupted, "for reasons which I'll soon explain." She held up a hand to ward off his argument. "You need to hear these things, Burt, and you need to let me say them if you have any hope of protecting Kurt."

His protests died on his lips.

"There is one other type of these places of convergence," she explained. "They're called Nexuses. Unlike a Hellmouth, the power of a Nexus is neutral; it can be used by either Good or Evil. Stonehenge is probably the most famous example, although very few have learned how to access its power. Delphi is another." She paused. "Another Nexus lies beneath Halliwell Manor. The Charmed Ones are its Guardians."

Burt and Suzanne reeled back.

"That's why so many demons attacked you in your home," Suzanne whispered.

Prue nodded. "They were out to kill us, certainly, but they were ultimately after the power of the Nexus. They would have to take possession of the Manor in order to access it, and its power is a far greater allure than even the heads of the Charmed Ones."

"I assume there's a point to this," Burt sneered.

Her eyes flashed. "There is," she snapped, "and this is it: Hellmouths attract Slayers, whereas Nexuses attract witches. The war between Good and Evil is being fought on two different levels, with different kinds of magic. On the one hand are Slayers, mortal girls endowed by an ancient spirit with superior gifts like increased speed and strength, as well as accelerated healing. They don't live long, and when one dies, the spirit animating them Calls another. Slayers are primarily concerned with vampires and other lower-level demons, but they're essential to the continuation of this world. The current Slayer, one of the most accomplished and long-lived, is responsible, along with her friends, for the aversion of approximately half a dozen apocalypses."

"What kind of bullshit _is_ this?" Burt demanded. Suzanne was noticeably silent.

Prue ignored both of them. "On the other hand are witches, like Suzie, Kurt, and myself. We're considered natural witches who were born with magic and specific powers. Our enemies, the ones who hunt us and seek to steal those powers, are higher-level demons, those that desire to take over this world but not eradicate it. These fronts have always been distinct, but a point is approaching where that will no longer be possible."

"And somehow Kurt figures into this," Suzanne guessed.

Prue nodded. "That's the reason for the history lesson, because it's important you understand all the players in this endless war. Forewarned is forearmed."

Burt exhaled and gestured for her to continue.

"After the Power who created this world slipped into, well, let's call it unconsciousness, the first race of demons exploited a Hellmouth and crossed over into this realm. They were called the Old Ones and ruled for an incalculable period of time. While we were still evolving from protozoa, they were conquering other races and building nations. Their evil poisoned everything, including each other, until there were only a few left who were strong enough to rule. That's when God woke up."

Suzanne dropped her head in her hands and moaned softly. Burt just stared.

"God didn't like what it saw," Prue continued, "so it began expelling the demons from this dimension. Not all of them, of course, but the Old Ones were either forced to leave or lapsed into eternal sleep. Some are still hidden in pocket realms on this plane of existence, waiting to be awakened."

"The Deeper Well," Suzanne murmured.

Prue blinked. "How did you know?"

She gave her cousin a tired smile. "The Bowen Book of Shadows is heavy on ancient lore."

Prue slowly nodded. Stupidly, she had never before considered that the Bowen branch would have their own Book, but now she found herself fascinated, wanting to devour it in its entirety and compare it that of the Halliwell family.

"So God got rid of the demons," Burt reiterated.

"It did," Prue confirmed, "but again, it lapsed into unconsciousness. The amount of power required to accomplish this was devastating to it. Other demons appeared, as did other gods. The world was ripe for the picking. The new demons had learned from the fall of the Old Ones, however, and kept to the shadows, interfering with humans, who, by then, had evolved and began to populate the earth, only when necessary."

Suzanne raised a brow. "Like feeding from us?" she blithely asked.

Prue nodded. "Vampires are by far the most prolific demonic scourge humans have ever encountered but, like I said, the new demons had learned from the mistakes of their predecessors and covered their tracks. As the earth and humans evolved, so did Evil."

"And the gods?" Burt asked.

"Most of what you've read, what we consider mythology, is true. Gods existed and still do, but not in any tangential form. Only a few were able to manifest themselves physically in this realm and, though they ruled for a while, the majority of their worshipers turned away. By this time, God had once again awoken and decided to take back its creation. This happened over a period of millennia."

"You mean like in the Bible?" Burt asked. "The Flood?"

She shook her head. "The Judeo-Christian idea of God is probably the most accurate representation of this essence, but the majority of the Bible is allegory. It's a moral guideline and should not be taken literally, especially as it's static and doesn't evolve as we do. Whether it was inspired by God's Word or not, it was still written by humans, and humans always have an agenda. There was no Garden of Eden, no Great Flood.

"The Bible, as we are familiar with it, is not complete. Scholars and historians selected which books to include. After the persecution and crucifixion of Jesus, who did exist, the Christians revised the Bible further, rejecting any number of available Gospels for myriad social and political reasons."

"Jesus was real?" Burt croaked.

"He was, and he was sent by God, but every major religion has a Christ-like figure born of a virgin, and they all walked this earth, as well, though their fathers, for lack of a better term, were different deities."

She sighed. "God became fascinated with the humans it had inadvertently created and fixated on them. It was jealous that humans were worshiping deities who had no hand in their creation, so it expelled as many as of the gods as it could. As the Common Era dawned, Christianity began sweeping through the Mediterranean Basin and expanded at a relatively rapid pace. Many pagan gods left this dimension or were exiled. Those who didn't want to leave descended to earth and intermingled with humans, passing their gifts on to their offspring. Magical witches were the result."

"We're descended from gods?" an hysterical Suzanne barked.

"Yes," replied a serious Prue. "That is why we were so persecuted by the Church and other sects during the Middle Ages, through the Reformation and the colonization of the New World. That's why Melinda was burned at the stake. Witches were a threat to the dominant regime, but not the only ones."

"Who else?" Burt asked.

"There's more than one kind of witch. There are magical witches who are descended from pagan gods, like those of the Warren line, and there are witches who are not born with the power of gods, but who can access it."

"How?" Suzanne demanded.

Prue shrugged. "They invoke the gods who did not flee, the ones who didn't breed with humans but instead hid themselves in pocket realms. These witches call on their patron gods and goddesses and they are heard. There are not many of these witches, but they are very powerful. Not as powerful as we are, but you have to understand that when they exercise their power, it is the undiluted power of a god. It is addictive and often more than they can control. There is such a witch in the company of the Slayer. She is perhaps the strongest of her kind."

"And the Elders?" Suzanne asked.

"The Elders were created by the First Brood, the original set of offspring between gods and humans. They were long-lived, but not immortal. After they passed into eternity, they decided they needed to create some kind of body to govern the world, or at least the witches within it. After the Second Brood died, the Elders endowed them with whitelighter abilities so they could return to earth and guide the next generation of magical witches, as well as those who were descended from the union between a god and a human but who had no powers: future whitelighters."

"This is unbelievable," Burt said, dropping his head into his hands. "What about Satan?" he snickered wildly. "Is he real too?"

"Yes," Prue snapped. "You see, that's one of the fundamentals of existence. For every good, there must be a corresponding evil. Nature – the entire universe, for that matter – is predicated on one thing: balance."

Suzanne nodded. The Rule of Three, karma, the Golden Rule, the law of personal gain; all were hypothesized in order to keep the balance of energy in equal measure.

"God needed a counterpoint," Prue said, "so it created Lucifer, whose Fall was mandated by his very nature, and that is not the only example of the world requiring balance in order to function. During the second time that God fell asleep, those humans who were aware of demons decided they needed a defender, an inexorable warrior to keep the demons at bay. A group of them, ancient humans called Shadowmen, captured a young girl and performed a ritual. They merged her essence with that of a tremendously powerful and incorporeal demon."

"The Slayer," Suzanne guessed.

Prue nodded. "As I earlier explained, the Slayer is a young girl – and it is always a girl – whose destiny it is to fight demons. The demon gave the first Slayer, known as the Primitive, several gifts, including accelerated healing, enhanced speed and strength, and the ability to sense demons in their midst. The strength of these gifts varies from Slayer to Slayer. Girls who have the ability, for whatever reason, to become a Slayer are called Potentials. When a Slayer dies, a Potential is Called to take her place."

"These girls," Burt grunted. "How old are we talking about here?"

"The youngest on record was nine," Prue said, her disgust obvious.

"That's fucking _sick_," he rasped. "Some group of assholes stood in a circle and decided the best way to fight scary shit was to have little girls, _babies_, do it for them? Fucking assholes."

"I agree," Prue said coolly. "It's an abomination, but it's also reality."

"And the current Slayer," Suzanne interjected. "You said she was, er, successful?"

Prue nodded. "The most successful on record. A large part of that is due to the friends who surround her. Before, the Slayer always fought alone. She no longer does."

"That's something, I guess," Burt muttered.

"And does she have an enemy to maintain the balance she upsets?" Suzanne asked.

"All demons are her enemy," Prue replied, "but they exist with us in this realm. There is another enemy that lurks beyond the walls of our dimension, of _all_ dimensions, constantly seeking a foothold into whatever reality can admit them. The last time it entered our world was long ago, before records, even before speech, but it's out there, just waiting to return. The Slayer will be the first to stand against it, but if she falls, our world goes with her. This enemy belongs to all of us, though no one wants to claim it or even acknowledge the fact that it is real."

"What is it?" Burt whispered.

"The First Evil," Suzanne murmured. "It's the genesis of _all_ Evil. It's responsible for every wicked thought, every treasonous action, every lie and betrayal. It is the physical manifestation of Evil itself." She stared down at the blanket covering her weak, trembling legs. "Evil is real, Burt. It is a true and potent force in this world, and it is always seeking entrance. And do you know why people deny it, why they don't know? Because they don't want to."

He closed his eyes. Ignorance had been bliss.

"But I've never heard of the Slayer or how she was made," Suzanne continued. "You would think this would be known information to natural witches, or at least whitelighters."

Prue shrugged. "The origin of the Slayer has been lost to time. Even the Council, the Slayer version of Elders, has no idea of how the Line was first spawned. Whatever her powers, she's still mortal, just like witches. Just like me. She can die. In fact, the current Slayer has already died once; her friend resuscitated her, inadvertently spawning a Second Line. Now two Slayers walk the earth and will in perpetuity. The boy who did that, the Father of the Second Line, also figures into the prophecies regarding Kurt. He will become one of Kurt's greatest protectors."

Burt exhaled shakily, grateful for this information yet still horrified at whatever was to befall his son. "That's the point of all of this, isn't it?" he asked. "The two lines of this war, the ones fought by Slayers and witches, they're going to collide, aren't they? They're going to converge, and Kurt is the one who is going to bring it about."

"Yes."

* * *

><p>She paused and licked her lips. "What you must understand is that God and Satan are the balances of power only for this world and in this time."<p>

Burt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"God and Satan are the arbitrators of _this_ plane of reality, but there are eleven such planes, all of which coexist within our own. That does not take into account parallel worlds, which exist in concert with this world in this dimension; alternate worlds, which are mirror images of this world in this dimension; other dimensions; and the universe itself."

"I need drugs," Burt moaned. "I can't get through this without being stoned." He turned to his wife. "Can you share your morphine drip?" he begged.

She seriously considered his question, because she was about to depress the button to have more narcotics pushed into her bloodstream.

"I'm so sorry," Prue whispered. "I know how difficult this is. It's all still new for me, too, so I understand your fear and confusion. Most humans never need to be aware of this knowledge; many of those who come to know it reject it. I wouldn't be doing this to you unless it was absolutely necessary. Please believe that."

Suzanne sighed. "I know, honey."

"It's all for Kurt, right?" Burt asked.

Prue nodded.

He shrugged. "Then that's all that matters."

"So," Suzanne said with false brightness, "the other planes of reality in this dimension, that's where the Powers That Be come into play, right?"

Prue released a breath and nodded.

"And they're the ones who sent you?" Burt asked.

She nodded again. "The Powers That Be are the arbitrators of this dimension and the planes of reality that exist within it - all of them, including parallel and alternate worlds. Usually, these worlds function well enough with minimal interference. They have their own arbitrators and their own rules, but occasionally there are events so cataclysmic that they interfere with this natural order. That's when the Powers step in and appoint Champions to their cause, to be their representatives on the specific plane affected."

"And Kurt is one of these Champions?"

"He will be," she said, "but first let me explain a bit more about the Powers." She waited for them to acknowledge her with nods. "They are immortal, but their duties are not; they can and have often been replaced when deemed to be inefficient. They, like the God of this reality, are neither Good nor Evil. They are not immoral, but rather _amoral_; their sole function is to maintain the balance between Good and Evil." She paused. "Now this is where things start to get very tricky. How much do you know about physics?"

Burt snorted. "Sorry, I skipped that class. Every single one of them."

Prue smiled wryly and looked at Suzanne, who shrugged.

"All I remember are the Laws of Thermodynamics."

Prue's eyes shined. "And what's the First Law?"

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction," Suzanne quoted.

Prue nodded. "Yes," she said in approval, "but that can be reduced even further: for every force, there is an equal and opposing force, and so it is with Good and Evil. These are merely monikers humans have bestowed upon these essences, but, at their simplest, they are merely _opposing forces_. _That_ is the true nature of existence: _balance_. It is not morality which determines an outcome, but _intent_. Intent, whether it be natural or supernatural, physical or psychical, is at the root of every action. If that force which we deem _Good_ pushes ahead, then its corresponding force, _Evil_, pushes back.

"It really is," she concluded, "_just that simple_. There is no grand design, no master plan. We all have been drafted as warriors in the eternal battle to maintain the _status quo_. Everything happens for a reason, but that doesn't mean the reason is necessarily _good_."

"I think I get it," Burt said slowly. "The whole universe and everything within it, including us, are made up of these two forces. Everything has the potential to be Good or Evil, or both, like Nature is both, loving and cruel at the same time. Whether we choose Good or Evil depends on the circumstances of those decisions. We change as the circumstances change. With every decision, every choice we make, the balance shifts, and it spirals out beyond us, affecting everything else."

"Yes!" Prue all but shouted in her excitement.

Suzanne nodded, proud of her husband. Of course, she had always been proud of him. "Tell us the prophecy. Or prophecies. You said there were two."

Prue nodded somberly. "God has fallen asleep again, and the choices humans have made, the way we've reacted to Evil, have thrown both this world and several of the others out of balance. God will eventually awaken, but the battle for this world is almost lost; it's already effectively lost to its arbitrators. Soon there will be no God or Devil. The Powers have finally realized that God and Lucifer simply don't understand the harmony of the spheres, that what happens to this world, here in this time, can have disastrous and permanent consequences for the other worlds. So the world will be taken from them and they will be expelled to another dimension.

"The Powers have no control over the Slayers; Slayers are a human construction. The Powers have named a new Champion, but given what he is facing, it's entirely probable that he will be unsuccessful in his ultimate mission. They've foreseen an event which will level the playing field dramatically in our favor, far too much so, and somehow the Slayer's witch is involved. I don't know what it is or when it will happen, but there is one Power that believes the balance will be shifted irrevocably - and not for the better. _Everything_ will fall out of balance, the entire universe, because of a supercharged butterfly effect. If that happens, this world could be annihilated. I'm not speaking of an apocalypse in which demons assert dominion over the earth. I mean that this world and everyone in it will be blinked out of existence and replaced, so that the balance will never again be so threatened."

They stared at her. What the hell could they say to that? And where were the drugs? They definitely needed some drugs - in heavy doses and of every possible variety.

"There are currently three Powers who govern this dimension," Prue continued. "Three were selected so that any action taken would be by vote of majority, a system of checks and balances. The problem is that the Powers are just as fickle and hubristic as God and Lucifer, as the pagan gods and the Elders, and the Shadowmen and the First. They argue, they bicker, they waste time when important decisions have to be made. Like I said before, while they are immortal, their positions as The Powers That Be are not."

Suzanne narrowed her eyes. She had an inkling of where this was going and she didn't like it. Burt looked utterly confused.

"The Power who is so concerned with the Slayer's witch and the new Champion is the same one who recruited me. It plucked me out of the afterlife and explained to me what was happening, what could happen, and the role Kurt was destined to play." She looked at them sorrowfully. "I didn't want to believe it. I still don't. But I decided that whatever happened, I would be at Kurt's side when it occurred."

Burt nodded stalwartly. "But what is that role?"

Prue stood and began pacing. "Dawn is breaking," she said. "That's what the Power told me. A time is fast approaching that will herald the end of the reign of the current Powers That Be. Prophecies throughout all of the worlds have confirmed it. It can't be denied or fought. At the hour of the greatest menace, when the most dangerous enemy attempts to seize control of this dimension, the New Power will claim Its throne, exile Its brethren, and cleanse this realm to reset the balance."

She looked at them.

"The New Power approaches, and this world will tremble at Her Hand."

Burt swallowed. "Kurt is the Hand?"

"He is."

"And this New Power?" Suzanne asked, quaking. She was familiar with the prophecy and its variations, at least as far as this world was concerned. That it had been validated by an untold number of prognisticators throughout the dimension was stultifying. She knew about the Powers That Be, at least in the abstract, enough to understand that there was a force or forces beyond the existence of just this world, beyond the Elders and whatever deities ruled, a force which guided things toward a specific destiny.

"There will be portents of Her arrival," Prue replied. "The King will be crowned; an Old One will again walk this earth; the Twice-Blessed will be born; Cain and Abel will rise; and the Pentad will awaken."

"The Pentad?" Suzanne gasped.

Prue nodded, looking away. "The second prophecy concerning Kurt is that of the Pentad. You're familiar with it, Suzanne. I know it. If it's in our Book, it's most likely in yours as well. It's coming, and the Hand will lead it."

Suzanne shook her head in disbelief. The Pentad was only legend. It was only ever _supposed_ to be legend. It could never possibly exist. Their power would exceed even that of the Charmed Ones. How bad was this world going to get that both the Charmed Ones _and_ the Pentad had to be activated, that two supernatural armies would have to come together to fight for their very existence?

She couldn't even fathom it, was somewhat grateful she wouldn't live to see it, but Jesus Christ, her _child_ would be leading this fight? Her brilliant, beautiful baby who still required bedtime stories and checks under his bed and nightlights before he could even think of going to sleep? He was tasked with keeping the darkness at bay?

It was _obscene_.

She knew Prue was right, that she couldn't fight it, but once she crossed over, the Elders, the Powers, whoever met her in that long corridor, was going to be in for a very rude awakening. She would see her son again, this she vowed. She would be at his side whether or not he knew it, and woe to those who would try to stop her. Because there was one thing these Powers, Elders, and gods couldn't negate: free will. Her body might be betraying her, might be slowly dying, but she had an iron will, one she had passed on to her child, and together they would demand a reckoning for everything that had and would be done to them.

"What the shit is a Pentad?" Burt demanded, snapping Suzanne out of her vengeful thoughts. "And what of this New Power? When the hell is that supposed to happen?"

Prue's gaze was steely, resolute. "It's not known who or where She is, nor when She will arrive, but She's coming."

"That's it? That's all you know? Some chick is going to take over this dimension and use my son as her war general, and you don't anything about her? Are you _serious_?" Burt raged.

"All that's known is that she is called the Queen."


	3. Something Wicca This Way Goes

A pall of silence had descended over the hospital room as Kurt's parents contemplated what his future was to entail.

Burt longed to linger in denial about the entire affair, desperate to convince himself to believe that his son was, in fact, _not_ a witch, and certainly not one who literally had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. He had believed he had understood, even if only dimly, what it meant for the Halliwell sisters to be the Charmed Ones, what it was for his wife to be a witch, but now he realized he had never had even an inkling.

Suzanne, meanwhile, had entered Project Mode, wanting to tie up as many loose ends as possible prior to her death.

"Do you know how much time I have left?" she asked her cousin.

Prue shook her head. "Not long," she said thickly. "I don't know much, but I know that." She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Sue."

Burt stared down at the floor, suppressing a sigh.

"Forget it," Suzanne snapped, though not unkindly. "What we have to do is prepare as much as we can so that Kurt will be ready."

"How?" Burt asked dully.

"I'll talk to him," Suzanne said. "Explain to him about magic and what we are."

He shook his head sadly. "He won't believe you, Suzie," he quietly said.

Suzanne stared at her husband for a long moment and at last nodded. "You're right. It would be better coming from Prue."

Prue blinked slowly and nodded. "I can do that," she said, exhaling loudly. She had no idea what the hell she was going to say to the little guy, how she could make him understand all that was happening and what was in store for him, but she knew she had to try. She figured it was best to start with things with which he might already be familiar. "How much does he know about Cassie, about what she is?"

"I honestly don't know," Suzanne confessed. "To my knowledge, he just considers her a family friend. It's _possible_ he could know more, that perhaps he's seen her orb in and out of the house." She shook her head. "If he has, he would have kept it to himself. He's very removed from us. He has been, ever since San Francisco."

"I'm sorry," Prue said quietly.

"I'm not," Suzanne said sharply. "Don't get me wrong. I don't like this; in fact, I hate it. But you were right before: I can't fight it. History is filled with stories of men and women who have tried to avert prophecy. It never works. I don't want this life for him, but I know he can handle it. I choose to believe that. I _have_ to believe that, otherwise I couldn't go on."

"So what do we do?" Burt asked no one in particular.

Suzanne stared off and contemplated her options. "After I die, how soon will the spell be rescinded and his powers restored?"

Burt glared ineffectually at her.

"Almost immediately," Prue answered. "It could happen as soon as you start to slip away. I'd say within a day."

"But why?" Burt asked. "You told me yourself that you and your sisters didn't receive your powers until six months after Penny died. You only got them when Phoebe read the incantation from the Book."

She gave him a smile she didn't feel. "Because our magic is, in part, tied to the Book. Our Book of Shadows isn't just a book of magic, Burt, it _is_ magic. That's why every demon wants it."

"Is yours?" he asked his wife, feeling stupid for not already knowing the answer.

Suzanne shook her head. "No. My Book has spells and remedies and family history, as well as lore, but it's not a magical tome. My branch of the family simply never had the level of power required to make it such." She blinked. "That could be a problem."

He nodded and looked away. He wanted to help, but there was nothing he could add, no real solutions he could offer. He didn't even know why he had stayed for this. There was nothing he could do to help his wife and son with this part of their lives.

He felt as though he were a complete failure as a man. He had lost his daughter, would soon lose his wife, and then he would spend the remainder of his days wondering as to when he would finally lose his son. He thought of Patty Halliwell and could only assume that she had experienced similar thoughts after giving birth to Phoebe, knowing she had delivered the Charmed Ones. He longed to call Victor Bennett and ask how the hell the man coped with having his daughters as the Charmed Ones.

Suzanne reached over and grabbed his chin. "You'll need to be with him. I don't want him with me when I die. He's far too young, Burt, and that will be all he remembers of me. It will color all of his memories of me. I don't want that for him. I don't want that for _me_."

"No you don't," Prue softly agreed. "I watched my mother die. No child should witness such a thing."

Suzanne raised her eyes and looked into those of her cousin. "What?" she whispered. "You were there when Patty…"

Prue nodded.

Suzanne faltered, having no idea what to say. "I didn't know that."

Prue shrugged diffidently. "No one did, not even Grams. I never told Phoebe or Piper. They didn't need to know."

"How old were you?" Burt asked.

"I was six," she said, her eyes staring sightlessly before her. "I was as old as Kurt is now."

Suzanne turned her head and choked back a sob.

"How did you deal with it?" Burt asked.

"I didn't," Prue confessed, "not really, but it definitely informed who I became. As Suzanne said, it colored everything, poisoned it in a way. Kurt shouldn't have to deal with that." She closed her eyes. "My mother died by violence, trying to destroy a demon. Twenty years later, that same demon almost killed me. I almost embraced it, because I had always expected to die young." She gave him a wry smile. "And I did."

She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Even though your death will be natural, Suzanne, as natural as any death can be, it's not something Kurt should see."

Burt said nothing, but disagreed with their decision. He remembered too well how Kurt had changed since San Francisco, how mature he was now, far too much for such a little boy. The truth was that he believed there was very little his son could not handle, but with so many life-altering events crashing down upon him all at once, it was more than conceivable that he could break. Besides, this was Suzanne's call. It was her death; she should plan for it in whatever way might bring her comfort.

"What about our Book?" he asked Prue, deliberately changing the subject. "How will we keep it safe?"

Suzanne smiled faintly at his use of the possessive. He husband might not have understood magic, might not wanted his son to have to deal with it, but from the moment Kurt had been revealed as magical, Burt had vowed to protect him, and that meant protecting every tool that Kurt would require to fulfill his destiny.

Prue grinned. "Just leave that to me."

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, Prue orbed back in to the hospital room with the Bowen Book of Shadows, which she had liberated from the Hummel house, clutched in her hands. It was smaller than the Halliwell book, but she could feel the ambient magic it emitted; it wasn't as strong, but it was more gentle, definitely reflecting its most recent bearer.<p>

What she was about to attempt to pull off might be easier than she had thought.

"What are you going to do?" Suzanne asked, her displeasure and unease with someone else holding the tome patently obvious.

"This is more than just a book of spells," Prue said softly. "This is your son's legacy. It will grow and change as he does, as he and those who come after him add to it. It must be protected at all costs."

Burt's brow furrowed. "How?"

She smirked. "I'm going to call upon our own higher power." She placed the book at Suzanne's feet, closed her eyes, and opened her arms wide.

Suzanne frowned as she watched a protective circle appear around the perimeter of the room. It must have been a whitelighter power, because she'd never heard of any Wiccan ability that could make such a circle tangible; either that, or the Halliwell line was far more powerful than anyone could have ever conceived.

She felt vaguely resentful that she had never been a recipient of that power. She too was a descendent of Melinda Warren, but the Halliwell line had always contained the most potent abilities. She then remembered her son and blinked. The magic must have been waiting for him, she realized. Her terror for her son's future renewed itself.

Burt couldn't see the magic filling the room, but he could certainly sense it. It was a new experience for him and he didn't know if it was because of Prue – because she was a whitelighter – or if it was something altogether different. Whatever it was, he hoped it was permanent and would perhaps give him some kind of edge in keeping his son safe.

Prue took in a deep breath. "_I call forth, from space and time, matriarchs of the Bowen and Halliwell lines - mothers, daughters, sisters, friends; our family spirit without end – to gather now in this sacred place and help us to bring a child to grace_."

Slowly, one by one, they appeared, beginning with Melinda, followed by her daughter Prudence. Melinda's mother Charlotte stood behind them, smiling gently at Prue.

Melinda beamed widely. "Blessed Be, my daughters," she said to Prue and Suzanne.

Suzanne covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, my god," she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She had heard of summoning, had known it was possible, but she had never witnessed one. She didn't even know if she possessed enough power to perform one.

"This is just the beginning," Prue said, grinning.

More and more spirits emerged from the ether: Laura, Astrid, Helena, Grace, Deborah, Sarah, Anna, and Felicia; all of whom stood behind Melinda and formed two distinct lines, one Halliwell and the other Bowen. Finally, Patricia and Penelope Halliwell appeared, standing on either side of Melinda.

"Prue?" asked a confused Patty.

"What is going on, Prudence?" Penelope tersely demanded.

Prue opened her mouth and just as suddenly closed it as one final ghost materialized.

Suzanne moaned deep in her throat. "Mom?"

"Hello, my darling," Olivia Bowen said.

* * *

><p>Penny stalked forward, hand on her hips, and gave Prue a sweeping look. "Well?"<p>

"You remember our cousin, Suzanne," she replied, gesturing to the woman in question.

Penny frowned. "Of course, and it's lovely to see you, sweetheart," she said to Suzanne before turning back toward Prue, "but that doesn't answer my question."

"You always were a blowhard," Olivia said, rolling her eyes.

Penny whirled on her heel. "Well, there's a voice I haven't missed. I should have known I couldn't escape you even in eternity, Livvie."

Olivia's eyes hardened and she opened her mouth to retort before Patty cut her off.

"Both of you can shut up," she spat. "I'll be damned if I'm forced to put up with this bickering in the afterlife. I had enough of it on earth, and it's the reason Suzanne and my daughters didn't grow up together." Her eyes narrowed. "As they should have."

Suzanne glared at her mother as Prue glared at Penny. Both ghosts lightly blushed, which was really quite a feat, in Burt's opinion.

"Prue," Patty hesitantly began, "where have you been? You were supposed to stay in the receiving chamber while your grandmother and I spoke to your sisters."

Prue nodded slyly. "How is Paige coping?"

Patty's eyes widened as she stumbled back.

"How did you know about her?" Penny demanded.

Prue raised a brow. "Grams, I love you, but I'm dead now. There's nothing you can hold over my head to force me to bend to your will. The fact of the matter is that I know far more than you about what's going on in this world, as well as in several others. That's why I'm here with Suzanne, and it's why I summoned all of you. Things are far more unbalanced than most people have realized."

Although surprised by her granddaughter's admonishment, Penny dismissed it from her mind. "Very well," she said, nodding. "What can we do to help you?"

Prue shook her head. "It's not me who needs your help, but Suzanne."

Patty blinked and suddenly took in her surroundings. "Why are we in a hospital?" She silently answered her own question and her eyes filled with sadness as she looked at her cousin. "Oh, no," she whispered, "not again. Not so soon after Prue." She covered her mouth with a hand. "This just isn't fair."

"It never has been," Olivia said darkly, crossing to her daughter's side and taking her hand. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry," she said softly, stroking her daughter hair. "I don't know why I wasn't informed about what the hell was going on down here, but you can be sure that I'll find out. This shouldn't be happening."

"But it is," Suzanne said evenly, struggling not to cry, "and I have to make sure Kurt is safe."

Olivia's brows gathered. "What does this have to do with my grandson?" She blinked. "Hello, Burt. I'm sorry we never had the chance to meet while I was alive, but I want you to know how happy I am that my daughter found such a wonderful man with whom she could share her life."

Burt blushed. "Thank you, ma'am," he mumbled.

She waved a hand. "Tosh! Call me Olivia. Now, what is this about Kurt?"

Burt and Suzanne immediately looked to Prue, who nodded.

"Something incredible has happened," she began, "something no one in our family even considered possible."

Penny raised a brow. "Which is?" she drawled.

Prue shot her a look. "Six years ago, Suzanne gave birth to the first male Warren witch."

* * *

><p>The excited and confused murmurings of the ghosts quickly filled the room, giving Burt a headache.<p>

"Ridiculous!" Penny finally thundered. "Warren witches are _always_ female."

Melinda frowned and made to argue, but was interrupted.

Burt stood and glared at Penny. "Things change. My boy _is_ a witch, lady, and a pretty damn powerful one. He's a member of your family and he needs your help. So are you going to help him, or do I call Ghostbusters to blast your ass out of here?"

Penny curled a lip and opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by Prue.

"I wouldn't advise it, Grams. Burt is far more stubborn than you, and you really don't want to see the lengths to which he will go to protect his child. Believe me, this is one man you should absolutely respect."

Penny closed her mouth, tilted her head, and gave Burt a thoughtful look. Finally, she nodded. "I like you."

"I really don't care," he shot back.

She grinned. "Which is _why_ I like you." She rubbed her hands together gleefully. "All right, what's going on and how can we help? If young Kurt has shown himself to be magical, he must have powers. What are they?"

Prue smiled. "He shares our power, Grams. He's telekinetic."

"Outstanding!" Penny squealed. "What else?"

"He shares my power, too," Suzanne said quietly. "He's empathic." She looked up at her mother. "He's also telepathic."

Olivia winced. "Shit."

"Oh, dear," Patty fretted, wringing her hands.

"Difficult to manage," Penny allowed, "but certainly not impossible. He's a Halliwell, after all."

"He is a _Bowen_," Olivia spat.

Penny rolled her eyes.

"Enough!" Melinda interjected. "At the end of the day, this child is a _Warren_. He is _my_ blood, and he will be embraced by the entire line." She glared at Penny. "As for you, Penelope, your ridiculous prejudices against men have no bearing on this conversation. They are not shared by every member of this family, and you would do well to remember that you were only ever alive thanks to your parents, one of whom was a man. A man is the only reason you had Patty. And whatever you think of Victor, it is partly because of him that you are the grandmother of the Charmed Ones, in whom you take so much pride." She stared the other woman down and then finally walked over to Prue. "Whatever you ask of us is what we will do. It's just that simple."

"Thank you," Prue said, sighing.

"Where is Kurt?" Olivia asked excitedly. "It's about time I met my grandson!"

"He's in the daycare center," Suzanne explained. "Burt dropped him off there to tell me about Prue's, uh, death."

Penny nodded. "Which brings me back to my original question, granddaughter. What are you doing here?"

"I'm Kurt's whitelighter."

Patty gasped. "The Elders made you a whitelighter? Already? And for a member of your own family?"

Prue snorted. "Of course not. The Elders didn't assign me to Kurt. I'm above them now. After I died and crossed over into eternity, I was reunited with you. When the Elders called you away to send you to Piper and Phoebe, I was summoned by the Powers That Be."

An eerie silence fell over the room.

"What do they want with that boy?" demanded an angry Penny.

Olivia was soon at her side, her fierce glare also asking for an explanation, their love of family overriding their rivalry.

"It's why I summoned you," Prue said softly, gathering her courage. She looked up and ensnared the assembly before her in her gaze. "Kurt Bowen Hummel, our kin, our _blood_, is the Hand."

The explosion was immediate.

* * *

><p>"Absolutely not," Olivia said flatly. "I will not allow this," she hissed, unconsciously echoing the earlier words of her daughter.<p>

"This is ridiculous!" Penny expounded. "He's a child!" She shook her head. "No. This is outrageous. How much more is our family expected to give? How many more sacrifices must we make to ensure the safety of this world? Unacceptable. This is simply too much."

Melinda sighed. "I agree, but it's irrelevant. If Kurt is the Hand, that means he was prophesied to be so. We're all aware of that prophecy. We know the price Kurt would pay were we to interfere. Destiny will always have its way, no matter what machinations we devise in an attempt to thwart it. There is nothing we can do except help him as much as we can."

Penny and Olivia were furiously whispering to each other, united for the first time in life _and_ death by a mutual loathing for the powers which ruled their dimension.

Patty studied her daughter. "There's something more, Prudence. What aren't you telling us?"

Burt cleared his throat. "There's another prophecy. Kurt is supposed to lead something called the Pentad."

Penny's eyes bulged as Olivia once again swore under her breath.

Melinda gritted her teeth. "Oh, this really is carrying things too far. To saddle a child with such responsibility is simply reprehensible."

"My Wiccan powers have been restored," Prue interrupted, "and I've been given full whitelighter powers."

Suzanne narrowed her eyes. "That's…slightly different than what you said before. What exactly does it mean?"

Prue smirked, lightning bolts appearing in her hands. She twirled them around as though they were revolvers. "I have the powers of an Elder."

Burt grunted. "Huh. That's new."

Penny snorted.

Prue flicked her wrists and the lightning bolts disappeared. "I can't prevent Kurt from fulfilling his destiny, but I can do everything in my power to protect him as much as possible, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"If this child has been positively identified as the Hand," Charlotte said quietly, "then the Gloaming is upon us. It could occur within his lifetime."

"The what?" Burt asked.

"The Gloaming," Suzanne repeated. "It's also known as the Twilight, the time in which this world will fall." She nodded to Prue. "Tell them."

Prue gave an abbreviated version of what she had been told and the Matriarchs ruminated over her words.

"And you have no idea who this Queen is," asked a suspicious Penny, "or of when She will Ascend."

Prue shook her head. "None. The Power who told me didn't release that information, if they even know." She frowned. "This is just a feeling, but I got the idea the Queen wasn't known, not to the Powers, not even to Herself." Finally, she shrugged. "Maybe She hasn't been pressed in to service yet."

Penny grunted. "Perhaps."

Patty tilted her head. "Hasn't been pressed in to service yet," she slowly repeated. She looked at her daughter. "Why did you phrase it that way?"

Prue looked at her blankly. "I don't know," she finally said. "But if the Powers don't know who She is, or of the precise time of Her arrival, it stands to reason that they don't know _anything_ about Her, which makes me think that though this may be Her destiny, that She was created for it, it doesn't mean She's _aware_ of it. She might not have any more choice in this than Kurt does."

"A logical supposition," Melinda murmured, "and a frightening one. If She truly is unknown to the Powers, to Herself, then how could She possibly prepare for what is to come? If Kurt is the Hand, it makes sense that he would be called to Her side."

"What about the rest of it?" Charlotte asked. "Who is the King who will be crowned?"

"I don't know," Prue admitted. "Honestly, the more that I think about it, the more I believe Kurt is the _only_ known quantity involved. Obviously, this King is some kind of consort, but that doesn't mean he's an equal of the Queen, only that he will stand at Her side. If Kurt is the Hand, perhaps the King is the Heart."

Several of the ghosts nodded.

"And the Twice-Blessed?" Penny asked.

"There were rumors," Melinda recalled, "ones that predated my time, in which a magical child born of a most incredible union would be delivered into this world as planets burned and magic died. Not necessarily a permanent death, but perhaps merely a day of rest."

"Piper's child," Suzanne whispered.

"What?" asked Penny, Patty, and Prue.

"It's logical," she replied, her voice gaining strength. "A magical child of a most incredible union? Piper is now the eldest of the Charmed Ones. She is the most powerful witch in the world until Kurt assumes that mantle. Most likely, Piper will begin having children before Kurt is of age. Her husband is a whitelighter, one of the strongest forces for Good in this and any other world. Any child of theirs is guaranteed to be remarkable."

Burt frowned. "What about Paige? She's half-whitelighter."

Suzanne shook her head. "Patty wasn't Charmed." She frowned deeply. "Surely the Elders are aware of the Twice-Blessed prophecy and how Piper might deliver it." She raised her head and stared at Penny and Patty. "You must watch over them. The Elders have plotted against Piper and Leo before. I always thought it odd the Elders allowed the marriage. Patty gave up Paige, fearful of what the Elders would do to the girl, and I doubt they've relaxed their stance significantly since then."

Patty swallowed heavily.

"Which means," Suzanne continued, "the Elders will either try to prevent Piper from conceiving, which I doubt they can do, or they _want_ the child to be born. The question, of course, is _why_."

Prue swore under her breath.

"I knew her marrying that…that _man_ was a bad idea," Penny spat.

Prue and Patty rolled their eyes.

"An Old One will again walk the earth," Olivia quietly repeated. "The very idea is terrifying. I don't think the Charmed Ones or Kurt would stand a chance against it. We're talking about a god incarnate. Granted, this Old One would probably not have access to their full powers, but at the very least would be significantly more powerful than a mortal witch."

"But what can we do?" Deborah asked. "Mortals, even magical ones, don't have access to the Deeper Well. There are rumors that it's not even located on this plane of existence."

Helena nodded. "Not to mention that it contains the remains of _all_ Old Ones not expelled from this world. It's possible that the combined forces of the Hand, the Charmed Ones, and the Twice-Blessed would be able to subdue one Old One, but for them to go in to the Deeper Well and potentially face several or all of them?" She shook her head. "They would never survive."

"But could the Queen?" Burt asked.

"Doubtful," Olivia replied. "Beings of such power are not able to manifest themselves physically in this realm. That is why the First Evil must use agents like the Source to enact its will. Likely, this Queen will find Herself in a similar situation. My grandson, as well as this mysterious King, are likely to be two of Her agents.

"Does he have other powers?" she asked, turning toward Prue. "Or, should I say, will he?"

Prue nodded. "As I told Suzanne and Burt, Kurt has the potential for several abilities, most of them offensive powers. He will become the most powerful witch this world has ever seen, surpassing the individual powers of the Charmed Ones. As he already shares one of my powers, it's possible he'll share another."

"Astral projection," Patty guessed.

Prue nodded. "Or some other form of teleportation. I choose to believe that whatever Power created him for this had enough foresight to provide him with a method of transportation so that he's not forced to be reliant on me."

Olivia shrugged and nodded. "Makes sense."

"And the Pentad?" Penny asked. "He will lead it?"

Prue smiled wryly. "Right now, it's just a triad, but yes, eventually all five witches will come together under Kurt's leadership."

"Who are the other two current members?" Melinda asked.

"Two little girls Kurt's age," Prue answered. "Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce."

"I'm not familiar with those surnames," Penny said, frowning. "And their powers?"

"Brittany is an Oracle."

Several of the ghosts gasped.

"The other, this Santana?" asked a thrown Patty.

Prue shook her head. "Not here, not yet. I can't be sure we aren't being observed. All I will say is that Santana is Kurt's anchor; her mere presence will be able to help him master his defensive powers. Together, they will shield Brittany." She looked around nervously. "The cloaking spells I cast should keep us off the Elders' radar, but I don't know what else could be lurking about. Remember that we are no longer dealing with just Wiccan powers, but those of the godlings."

Several of the witches grumbled.

"The worlds of the Slayers and natural witches are beginning to collide," she continued. "If we have prophecies, they might have their own. We're no longer just fighting demons and Elders, but also pure demons, the Council, and the First Evil. I'm an agent of the Powers That Be, but remember that everything they know is also known by the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. We have to assume they have their own agents in place, as well."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," her mother warned. "Let's just take this one step at a time." She paused. "Is Kurt aware of what's happening?"

"No," Burt said. "Right now, it's all he can do to cope with the loss of his sister. He knows his mother is terminal, but he refuses to think about it."

"Sister?" Olivia frowned, before gasping and turning toward her daughter. "Oh, baby! Were you pregnant?"

Suzanne's face collapsed and she began shuddering with sobs.

Olivia looked to Burt, who shook his head. "There are times when a child needs her mother."

She nodded sadly and went to take her daughter in her arms as Burt crossed to stand next to Prue.

"Three years ago," he began, "Sue, Kurt, and I went to visit the sisters in San Francisco. Kurt fell in love with them, but then demons attacked. Piper and Phoebe were injured. Kurt held the demons at bay until Prue could vanquish them."

Penny gaped. "At three years old your son did this?"

"He did."

She blinked. "Well, hell." She shook her head. "Then what?"

He explained about how Prue and Piper fought with Phoebe and Leo, finally forcing them to agree to help Suzanne bind Kurt's powers, and how Cassie, Suzanne's whitelighter, used memory dust to make the sisters forget that Kurt was magical.

"A very wise decision," Patty said, before shaking her head in consternation. "What was Phoebe _thinking_, wanting to keep Kurt from his parents and raise him in the Manor? The next time she summons me, I'll have to force myself not to shake some sense into her!"

"So the other girls still don't know about Kurt?" Penny asked.

Burt and Prue shook their heads.

She heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. And Kurt doesn't remember any of this?"

"No," Burt replied, "but he knows _something_ happened. His forced separation from the sisters did not go over well. He's never forgiven us or them."

"Stubborn," Penny said fondly.

Prue snorted. "From what I remember about Kurt, he's worse than Piper, Phoebe, _and_ me put together."

Penny shuddered and turned to Burt. "My condolences, but it is a family trait."

"It's one of mine, too."

She smirked at him and turned back to Prue. "What do you want us to do? Obviously we're here for more than a debriefing."

Prue nodded and retrieved the spellbook. "This is the Bowen Book of Shadows. This is Kurt's legacy, containing the history of his line and their magic. I am requesting that all of you – Halliwells, Bowens, and Warrens alike – step forward and bless it. Fill it with your knowledge; everything you know, everything you believe, anything you think might be possible, put in to these pages. He cannot be left undefended."

She looked at all of them solemnly. "We _must_ help him, because if Kurt falls, the rest of the world will go tumbling after, including the Charmed Ones, their children, and all of us. If this world goes, the associated heavenly dimensions and the Higher Realms will go with it. The Warren line will be extinguished. I will not allow that to happen."

* * *

><p>Burt sat and stared, stupefied, as each of the Matriarchs stepped forward, closed their eyes, and laid their hands on the Book. As each blessed it, the Book itself began glowing and changing, growing in both length and width. By unacknowledged yet universal acceptance, Melinda was the last. She stepped forward toward the foot of Suzanne's bed and beckoned Suzanne and Burt to join her.<p>

Suzanne leaned forward and placed her hand on the book, but Burt hesitated.

"I'm not magical," he said.

Melinda smiled. "Perhaps not, but that doesn't preclude your line from being so. Your son is magical, Burt. It's possible your ancestors were, as well. Victor's were."

"What?" Prue, Patty, and Penny all whispered.

"Everything happens for a reason," Melinda said patiently. "Magic is not confined to a gender. The father of my own Prudence was a witch, a strong one, who unfortunately encountered an even stronger demon. Though my powers were greater, I was heavily pregnant and at my most vulnerable. Lucas sacrificed himself so that I and our daughter might live."

She looked at her descendents. "Despite what you think of Victor, do you truly believe he would do any less to protect his own children?"

"There's not a doubt in my mind he would protect his children with his life," Patty said staunchly.

Slowly, Prue nodded. "He would."

Penny was the holdout.

Melinda frowned. "Penelope, you watched him as well as I did when he was told of Prue's death. He was completely destroyed. Prue was his first-born, and though Phoebe is his youngest, Prue was his _baby_. He will never recover from her loss, any more than you did when Patricia was stolen from _you_."

Prue pressed her lips together as her eyes filled with tears. Patty drew her close.

Finally, Penny nodded, looking away. "I handled him all wrong," she quietly admitted.

"Victor will love Paige," Melinda continued, "because Piper and Phoebe will, because Patricia does, and because Prue would have. The Charmed Ones will need allies, yes, but more importantly, they will need their family. Other than Kurt, Victor is the only one left."

It was a sobering realization for the Halliwells.

Melinda turned back to Burt. "Every mortal possesses a kernel of magic, though they may never be able to access it. The bottom line is that, in the end, magic matters very little. _You are Kurt's father_. Your love for him is magical in and of itself. Burt Eugene Hummel, place your hand on the Book."

Burt looked up at her with gratitude shining in his eyes and did as she commanded.

Melinda laid her ghostly appendages over the living flesh of Kurt's parents, closing her eyes.

"_Prudence, Patricia, Penelope; Laura, Astrid, Helena, and Grace; Deborah, Anna, Sarah, Felicia; Prudence, Charlotte, and myself, Melinda; Olivia, Suzanne, and Burt. Warren Witches, allies, friends; never will we allow this circle to end. In this time and in this hour, I call upon our ancient power. All magic and wisdom, pass through me. Fill this Book with our love and guarantee._"

Her eyes opened and were opalescent.

"_Kurt Bowen Hummel; Hand and Pentad Head; son, grandson, nephew, and cousin. Flesh of our flesh, blood of our blood, bone of our bone, this I vow: never shall you walk alone._"

The Book itself groaned as it was flooded with magic. Light poured into it before bending prismatically and exploding outward, the pages rustling and whipping back and forth in a fierce wind. It expanded for the final time, quadrupling in size, before the cover slammed shut. There was a crackle of lightning as a pentagram was carved into the leather. The pentagram then caught fire, a circle of flame burning itself around the points and transforming it into a pentacle before it was extinguished.

"Evil will never touch this Book," Melinda swore, her voice booming and ricocheting off the walls of the small hospital room. "It is now tied to Kurt himself. It cannot be taken from him. It will open to none but those he permits access."

To demonstrate, she closed her fingers around the cover and tugged, but the Book remained stubbornly shut.

"Not for me," she whispered, a small smile on her face, "and, I'm sorry to say, Suzanne, not even for you. The Book will wait until Kurt is ready to claim it."

Suzanne keenly felt the loss as the magic closed to her and her connection to the Book was severed, but she didn't regret it. For the first time since Prue had orbed into her room, she felt she had managed to do something to protect her child.

"How will we get it home?" Burt wondered. "It can't stay here. It's not safe."

Melinda tilted her head and considered the problem. Finally she looked down at the Book and raised an eyebrow. "Home. Your Master comes."

The Book disappeared in an explosion of golden orbs.

Prue blinked. "Whoa. Can we do that for our Book?" She startled and looked down at the floor. "For their Book, I mean."

Penny scoffed. "That Book will always be yours, Prudence. You know very well that I am still able to access it."

Patty took her daughter's chin in her hand and forced Prue to look into her eyes. "You are Prudence Halliwell. You will _always_ be Prudence Halliwell. You may no longer be Charmed, but you are forever a Warren witch. Piper, Phoebe and Paige will always be your sisters. That connection does not end with death; not yours, and not theirs."

Prue pursed her lips and nodded.

"To answer your question, Prue," Melinda interrupted, "we cannot do this for your Book. Were we to try, the ancient magic which protects it would consider our spell to be a corrupting influence and the Book would destroy itself. It was created with a different purpose in mind. Though the Bowen Book was filled with ambient magic, it was not sentient. Now it is, as that of your Book always has been."

Penny stared at her. "Is that what would happen to our Book if something happened to the girls?"

Melinda nodded. "If Piper, Phoebe, and Paige were to perish before they had their own children, the Book would incinerate itself so that Evil could not take possession of it. The spells of protection were laid over it for precisely that reason. Though demons seek the Book, they will never truly be able to claim it."

"But it's been taken before," Prue argued.

"Yes," Melinda nodded, "but it has always returned to you. Even when it was corrupted by the dark priestess and her demon slave, it remained intact because you and your sisters lived. The Book is tied to the Halliwell line, not to a specific person. The Bowen Book is now tied only to Kurt. If he dies, it will go with him."

Burt and Suzanne really didn't wish to contemplate their only child dying and said as much.

"We need to know," Prue said softly. "It helps that I don't have to expend any time or effort protecting the Book and can instead focus exclusively on Kurt." She looked at Melinda. "Is his Book more powerful than our own?"

She nodded. "It contains the magic of the entire Warren line, not just the Halliwell branch. It is Halliwell and it is Bowen. It is Baxter, it is Russell, it is Johnson. It is all the knowledge we have ever possessed, even those Warren branches which have been extinguished or lost to time."

"And it's tied to Kurt?" Burt asked, wanting to make sure he understood.

Melinda nodded again. "The Book cannot be removed from his side. If someone or something somehow ever manages it, and I truly can't conceive of such an instance, the Book will simply return itself to him. If he perishes, the Book will immolate itself."

"What if he turns Evil?" Prue asked. "Not that I think he ever would, but because of a spell or something," she rushed to add, ducking her head at the combined glare from Burt and Suzanne. "It happened to us."

"But that wasn't your conscious choice," Melinda said gently. "The Book was turned Evil because you yourselves were through a spell, and the Book is tied to your emotions. Once the spell was rescinded, the Book was returned to its proper self. If Kurt _chose_ Evil, fully committed himself to it, the Book would destroy itself and could never be reconstructed." She paused. "That said, though Kurt's powers are also tied to his emotions, and even though the Book is tied to him, that tie is predicated on his legacy as a Bowen, and thus as a Warren, not simply to his emotions. If a spell turned Kurt, the Book would not turn with him."

She raised a brow. "Therefore, I would suggest that as soon as he takes possession of it, he grants access to his father and to Prue, so that should something happen to him, they will be able to help him. Whatever access he grants will be dependent on his intentions, so he can limit the circumstances in which the Book is available to anyone other than him."

Prue shook her head in wonder, feeling slightly jealous of Kurt's Book and its capabilities, even though she was the one who had engineered it all. She knew it was for the best, and she was excited to see yet again what magic could accomplish; yet even though she knew she would eventually be able to use the Book, she wondered how different her life would have been had it been in the possession of her and her sisters. "Wow."

"Will our Book be closed to the Charmed Ones, as well?" Suzanne asked.

Melinda frowned. "Theoretically it would be, yes. Kurt could allow them access if he so chose. I assume he eventually will allow access to Brittany, Santana, and the other two witches who will join his coven, whoever they might be. If something happened to Kurt, the Book would not pass to the Charmed One or their offspring, nor would it be inherited by his other coven members or their future children."

"What if Kurt has children?"

Melinda shook her head. "It won't automatically pass to them. He can give them initial access and then do a blood ritual to allow the Book to enter their possession upon his death."

"What if he adopts children?" Burt suddenly asked.

"Why?" Penny asked.

"Kurt is gay," Prue said fiercely, glaring at every ghost in her proximity and daring them to say something against her little cousin.

Penny shrugged. "As long as he has a Wiccaning for his child or children, be they of his blood or not, it should not be an issue. The blood ritual would still work and the family magic would recognize them." She looked at Melinda. "Yes?"

Melinda nodded. "Of course." She looked at Burt and Suzanne. "Please, never think for a moment that Kurt's nature would be considered unacceptable to us. There have been Warren witches since the line began who have been oriented toward their own sex. It matters not to us, and we would never deny him." She stared into their eyes. "We have spent centuries fighting and destroying Evil. We know what it is and what it is not. No expression of love is ever Evil, regardless of what others might think."

The Matriarchs nodded firmly and as one.

Penny frowned and looked at the Hummels. "Speaking of which, did Kurt himself have a Wiccaning?"

Suzanne looked down, flushing with embarrassment. "No," she admitted. "By the time we learned he was magical, he was already four and we were more concerned with hiding him from the Elders. Besides, his powers have been bound for two years."

Penny clucked and shook her head.

"What's a Wiccaning?" demanded a confused Burt.

"It's akin to a magical baptism," Patty said. "It's a ceremony in which the family spirits are summoned to bless and welcome the child as one of them. It also helps stabilize the child's magic, grounding it in the family line."

Burt nodded carefully. "Then Kurt will have one."

"Honey," Suzanne began.

"No, Sue. I understand why we didn't before, but that was then. This ceremony is not only important to who he is and who he will become, it's his birthright. My son is a witch, and a powerful one at that. I won't allow him to be denied his due." He shrugged. "Besides, after his powers are restored, he'll need the stability Patty says this Wiccaning will give him. You'll be gone, Sue, and frankly, I don't know how well I could handle everything. I can't do magic. I can't help him with his gifts. Thank god Prue will be there, but every little bit helps, right?"

Suzanne smiled and nodded, tears in her eyes, as she took Burt's face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth.

Penny _really _liked this man.

"My girl did well for herself," Olivia murmured.

Penny nodded. "Absolutely."

Suzanne pulled away from her husband and sighed. "I just wish I could be there for it."

Burt gripped her hand.

"Why can't you be?" both Penny and Olivia barked.

Prue scowled. "Once Kurt is exposed, the Elders will make it forbidden for him to summon Suzanne, as they have Piper and Phoebe from summoning me."

"Wait, _what_?" Patty hissed.

Prue smirked and shook her head. "They lied to you, Mom. Keeping me from my sisters won't help them to move on, and the Elders know that. Phoebe wasn't there when I died, and Piper was unconscious. After Leo healed her, she woke up to my dead body. She'll never get over that. She needs closure, and the Elders are denying it to her because it suits them to do so. They're hoping to bring Piper under their wing, and now I realize it's most likely because of the Twice-Blessed prophecy."

Patty curled her lip and snarled.

"Don't worry, Suzie," Prue said to her cousin. "You _will_ be at Kurt's Wiccaning. Like I told you before, even though he can't summon you, no one can stop me from summoning you for him, and I _will_. Even if I couldn't, there's no reason Brittany and Santana, or their mothers, couldn't call upon you. If necessary, I'll help Kurt write a spell to call on all the Warren Matriarchs, not just the Bowens. The Elders won't be able to stop that."

Olivia and the other Bowens nodded fiercely.

"You will call on all of us, Prudence," Melinda decided. "I don't answer to the Elders, and I do not know who they think they are by forbidding anything. They certainly do not control my family. They may believe that they are beyond our reach, but that belief is false. I would be happy to prove it to them."

Her mother Charlotte nodded. "We are all Warrens, especially Kurt. He will require and receive blessings from us all. We will not leave him undefended in this mockery Destiny insists should be his life. He will have to face many things, but he will never do so alone."

Suzanne laid back, closed her eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god," she whispered, "and thank all of you."

And then she died.

* * *

><p>Burt stared stupidly at his wife's body.<p>

"We have to go," Penny said urgently. "If we're not there to welcome her, the Elders will sense our absence." She glanced at Suzanne with sorrow. "We will take care of her, Prudence. That I promise you."

Prue nodded absently. "Her whitelighter is trying to get in. I promised her she could be with Suzanne before she…" She sighed. "I have to dispel the circle." She shook her head. "Suzanne must have known. Even if she didn't _know_, she knew. She waited until we could do something for Kurt."

"Summon us whenever you need," Patty whispered in her daughter's ear, "even if it's just to talk."

Prue nodded again.

Olivia pressed her spirit form in between that of her daughter's body and her son-in-law. "Listen to me, Burt. Please listen. This is not the end. There _is_ no end."

He stared at her sightlessly.

"You will see Suzanne again. You will be with her again. Love always survives."

As she reached up toward him, her hands became corporeal. She cupped his face in her hands. "Don't lose yourself because you've temporarily lost her. Don't lose Kurt because you're mourning Suzanne. You _must _protect him."

Burt nodded.

"You've had no time to prepare, and I'm so sorry for that. We can only assume that there is a reason behind this. Kurt's powers will soon be unbound. You have to be ready." She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his forehead, leaving a faint silver sheen in their wake. "What would she want you to do?"

"Kurt," he mumbled.

Olivia nodded. "Don't allow yourself to lose both of them," she warned. "I never got the chance to meet my grandson, but I know him. He will pull away. He will fight you. He will put up walls to keep you out. Don't let him."

Burt choked on a sob. "He's so much stronger than me. He always has been. He's never wanted me."

"Fiddle-faddle. Kurt is _your_ son, so be his father." She stared into his eyes. "They're coming, Burt. I don't know who they are, and I don't know when they'll arrive, but they're coming, and they're coming for Kurt. So the question is: what are you going to do about it?"

"Stop them."

"Hold tight to your son, Burt Hummel. Never let him go." She pulled back, once again turning transparent. "I will take care of Suzanne, and together, she and I will watch over you and Kurt. Make us proud, son."

He nodded and she was gone in a swirl of golden lights, the other ghosts following her. Prue raised her hands and the circle was disbanded. Cassie immediately orbed in.

"You promised," she seethed at Prue.

"Not now, Cass," Burt sighed.

"You don't…"

"Shut up," he hissed. "Suzanne was _my_ wife. Suzanne was the mother of _my_ son. What you want or what you feel you're entitled to doesn't matter here." He shook his head. "We've had our problems, but I love you, Cassie. Don't make this worse than it already it is. She's dead. They won't allow you to come back. Don't let this be how we leave things."

Cassie huffed as she swatted angry tears from her cheeks, knowing he was right and hating him for it.

Burt looked at Prue. "What happens now?"

"Time is temporarily frozen," Prue whispered. "Cassie will retrieve Suzanne's soul from her body and help her cross over. The others will be waiting for her." She paused. "There are things you'll have to deal with. I'll go to the daycare and get Kurt." She closed her eyes. "What do you want me to tell him?"

Burt shook his head. "He already knows. I can feel it. He'll ask, so tell him the truth. He'll know if you lie."

Cassie nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Prue nodded in concert and left the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

"Do what you need to do," Burt said dully to Cassie.

She looked at him and hesitated.

"It's just a body," he said, though it was obvious he didn't truly believe his words. "It's not her anymore. I have to take care of Kurt. She said she'd haunt me if I didn't."

Cassie blinked, snorted, and began laughing hysterically, tears streaking down her face.

"I meant what I said, Cass," he said lowly. "We haven't always gotten on, but I do love you. You're family. Even if they won't let you see us anymore, I know you'll be watching, somewhere, somehow, and I'll make sure Kurt knows that, too."

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"I'll miss you, too, but this is how it has to be. For Kurt."

She nodded. "For Kurt." She stepped forward toward the bed and raised a hand, and Suzanne's spirit rose from her body.

"I can see her," Burt whispered. "How?"

Cassie was dumbfounded.

"Magic," Suzanne said, smiling as she got to her feet. She turned toward her husband. "Mom must have used a spell. Don't question it. Don't try and figure it out."

He shook his head. "I'm too grateful."

"Mom was right, Burt. This isn't the end."

"I know," he warbled, fat tears seeping from his eyes.

"Be strong, baby," she murmured. "I love you so much. You are the _best_ decision I ever made."

He shook his head and sobbed. "I didn't deserve you."

"Don't be an idiot," she grinned, and then sobered. "Take care of our son. Trust Prue. Trust the girls. Don't trust anyone else. If anyone comes to you and claims I sent them, don't believe them. If you ever feel in doubt, if you ever feel that something is _wrong_, tell Prue. You've got excellent instincts, Burt, better than my own. Trust them. Trust those of Kurt. His are almost as good as yours."

He nodded.

"We have to go," Cassie whispered. "Time is restarting, and the doctors are coming."

"I'm always with you," Suzanne vowed to her husband. "And now I'm going to go and be with our daughter."

Burt doubled over and sobbed.

"This isn't the end," she reminded him. "Prue will be able to summon me. We'll never be apart, Burt. We're forever." She leaned over and whispered into his ear. "You are the love of my life. That will never change."

"Please don't go," he begged. "Don't leave me."

"I'm so sorry, baby," she said brokenly. "It's not fair, it's not, but it's not the end. Trust in that. Trust in _us_." She passed through him and Burt gasped, shooting straight up as her essence merged with his. "Until we meet again."

He collapsed into the chair and curled in on itself, giving in to his despair.

Cassie held out her hand. "Ready?"

Suzanne took it. "Never, and there's a stop we need to make first."

They disappeared.

* * *

><p><strong>May 2000<strong>

**Lopez Mansion**

**Lima, Ohio  
><strong>

Santana Lopez was hosting a slumber party for her best friend, Brittany Pierce, and, at her mother's insistence, another girl named Quinn Fabray.

Santana didn't like Quinn. Quinn was pretty and smart and very bossy. She had come into Santana's house like she owned it and everyone inside of it. Santana had set her straight pretty quickly, especially after the walking Skipper doll had tried to boss Brittany around, and though Quinn hadn't challenged her as Santana had expected, the seething resentment was obvious.

Santana so didn't care. She didn't have time for Quinn. She was far too busy worrying about Aunt Suzanne and Uncle Burt, and especially Kurt.

It was kind of interesting that Kurt was a lot like Quinn, except Kurt was _much_ prettier and a lot smarter. He was bossy, but it was okay because he was always right and he bossed _everyone_ around, including his parents, her parents, Brittany's parents, and that boy at the park who smelled like a puppy shelter. But he never bossed her or Brittany around. He loved them too much.

She thought that if she introduced Kurt to Quinn, he would hate her, which was awesome, since it would totally validate Santana's belief that Quinn was not to be trusted. She didn't even know why Quinn had to be there. Just because their mothers were friends? That was so lame.

She rolled her eyes as Quinn began telling her and Brittany all about some Disney on Ice thing her mother had taken her to see in Dayton last week. The only reason Santana hadn't told her to shut up was because Brittany liked Disney. She listened with half an ear as Quinn prattled on and on about Belle and Jasmine and Ariel until Santana wanted to claw her eyes out. Unfortunately, Brittany was styling Quinn's hair and was thus blocking access to the twit.

Everyone knew Mulan was the only Disney Princess worthy of note. Mulan ruled. She was a complete badass and boys bowed down to _her_, which is exactly the way things should be, in Santana's opinion. It was just the natural order of things. Well, it had been.

Now, everyone should bow to her, Brittany, and Kurt. Quinn especially should bow.

"I wish Kurt were here," she muttered.

"Who's Kurt?" Quinn chirped.

"Kurt Hummel. He's our best friend," Santana snottily replied.

Quinn sneered. "You're best friends with a boy? That's so gross! Boys are foul and nasty. I won't ever like them."

"Good," Santana snapped, "because there's no way _he_ could ever like someone like _you_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Quinn demanded, huffing and narrowing her eyes.

Brittany pulled at one of Quinn's pigtails. "You be nice. Kurty is a good boy. He's very pretty and smart and speaks European. He ice skates and dances and does gymnastics like me and Sanny. He's very sad now, but he's still okay enough to kick your butt."

Santana growled. "Now you've upset Brittany! You'll have to be vanquished!"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't making fun of your friend, really. I don't even know him!" She hedged. "He sounds pretty cool," she said softly.

"Kurt is the best," Santana insisted. "He helps me protect Brittany, and last week at the playground, Dave Karofsky pushed me off the swings and Kurt kicked him in the naughty place."

Quinn's eyes widened. That was indeed impressive. Karofsky was a real jerk, always picking on girls and pushing around the other boys. Quinn couldn't stand him. "What does Kurt look like?"

After all, she couldn't properly judge him on unimportant attributes like intelligence and bravery.

Brittany squealed and skipped over to Santana's bookshelf, grabbing a photo album and darting back to Quinn, dropping down next to her. "This is us! All three of us. We've been best friends for _ages_."

Quinn blinked and took the album from her, thumbing through the pages.

Brittany was right. Kurt _was_ very pretty, as pretty as Quinn herself was. She wasn't sure she liked that.

His skin was pale, like the color of the dolphin sculpture she had in her bedroom. He was also very short, shorter even than Santana. His hair was dark, though not as dark as Santana's, and it was really, really shiny. His lips were pink like Bubble Yum. If all boys looked like Kurt, she might like them more.

His eyes mesmerized her. She had always wanted to have blue eyes because she thought they would better match her blond hair, but Kurt's eyes were the most beautiful she had ever seen. They were blue and green and grey, all at the same time. His eyes changed color in almost every picture, depending on the light or where they were or what clothes he was wearing.

And the clothes! They were the most amazing thing of all. They were bright and pretty and colorful and Kurt looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine.

As she scanned the pictures, it was pretty obvious that Kurt was very important to Santana and Brittany. Quinn desperately wanted friends, and though she had been reticent about this slumber party, the prospect of spending the night with two girls her own age was too good to pass up. She liked Brittany well enough, even if the girl was a little strange, and she really liked Santana, though she was sure Santana didn't like her.

But why would they want to be her friends? They had Kurt. She thought she'd like to be friends with him too. Maybe he would like her?

"Where is Kurt now?" she asked.

Brittany's eyes filled with tears. "He's in the hospital."

Quinn became alarmed. "Is he okay?"

"Aunt Suzanne, his mom, is really sick," Santana said softly. "She has cancer. She also had a baby in her tummy, a little girl, but the baby died. Aunt Suzanne is going to die too, so Kurt stays at the hospital with his mommy so she won't be lonely and sad."

Brittany was now sobbing and fat tears streaked down Quinn's cheeks.

"That's awful. That's not right," she said, shaking her head. "That's not fair."

"No, it's not," Santana said bitterly. "My mommy's a doctor at St. Rita's, and she visits Aunt Suzanne every day. So does Aunt Ashley, Brittany's mom. They're three friends just like me, Brit, and Kurt."

"He's so sad," Brittany murmured. "I don't want Aunt Suzie to die. She's really nice and makes really yummy brownies and gives the _best_ hugs."

Santana clenched her teeth and stared down at her hands in her lap.

"I want to meet Kurt," Quinn said importantly.

"Why?" Santana hissed. She was not about to let Princess Barbie around her best friend.

"Because he's sad. Because he needs friends now." She sighed. "And if I don't become friends with you all, Mommy will make be friends with that Rachel girl." She shuddered and wrinkled her nose. "That girl is very, _very_ loud and is always talking about shows that I've never heard of. They're not on TV; I had Mommy check."

"She sounds weird," Brittany said.

Quinn nodded. "And she has two daddies but no mommy."

"Really? I didn't know you could do that."

Quinn nodded again. "That's what my daddy said – well, he said it shouldn't be allowed – but then Mommy yelled him a lot and told him not to be so judgy or something. Rachel's dads were really nice, but her room is _pink_."

Well, that sealed it for Santana. She couldn't abide pink or anyone who called it a favorite color. It was acceptable in small doses, like Pepto Bismol for when your tummy hurt, but pink was gross and girly.

Except for Hello Kitty's bow. Hello Kitty was awesome, and if she wore pink, that was okay.

Rachel was obviously not okay and would need to be avoided at all costs. The girl was probably a demon.

"Two daddies?" Santana repeated, frowning.

Quinn nodded. "They're gay."

Brittany brightened. "Kurty is gay! He likes boys instead of girls."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't blame him. Who'd want to date girls?"

Brittany and Santana exchanged a quick glance but said nothing.

"Does he have a boyfriend?" Quinn asked. "Finn Hudson is my boyfriend. I told him so yesterday. He's tall and kind of dumb, but he's nice. I mean, he's dumb, but he's not _stupid _like other boys. He gave me his apple juice at aftercare when Jacob dropped a booger in mine."

Santana scowled. "I hate Jacob. He's in my dancing class. I take tap, but Brittany and Kurt take ballet. Jacob's nasty and dirty and smells like bugs. He used to follow Brittany around, even after I punched him."

"Kurt takes ballet?" Quinn asked.

Santana nodded. "He and Brittany are in Madame Deveraux's class," she said grandly.

Quinn's eyes widened. Madame Deveraux's classes were super advanced and by invitation only. She didn't even know kids their age were _allowed_ in that class. She herself was in the beginner class with Mrs. Kathy. She liked it well enough, but could take it or leave it. Maybe she should switch to tap; at least she'd be with Santana. Of course, she'd also be with Jacob. Ew.

"So what else does Kurt do?" she asked. "You said ballet and gymnastics, right? And ice skating? Do you mean hockey?"

Brittany shook her head. "Figure skating, like the pretty girls on television. He can even do some jumps! But he falls a lot, too. He's better at spins."

"He also plays piano and takes singing lessons," Santana added in a bored voice.

Quinn _so_ wanted to meet Kurt Hummel.

"Did Jacob stop following you?" she asked Brittany, who nodded.

"Yep! Kurty made him, but I don't know how. Kurt whispered something to Jacob, and then Jacob wet his pants and started crying. Now he leaves me alone and runs away from Kurt!"

Okay, Quinn _definitely_ wanted to be friends with Kurt.

"Sanny," Brittany whispered, scrambling to her feet, her stance rigid. "Sanny!"

Santana's head snapped around and she mumbled something in Spanish. Quinn was pretty sure it was a bad word. Santana raced to her desk and grabbed her Lisa Frank pad and her favorite purple glitter pen.

"What's wrong?" a worried Quinn asked.

Santana shushed her. "I'm ready. It's okay, Brit."

"'kay," the girl sniffled, before her eyes turned glassy. She pitched forward slightly and her hair blew back from her face by a sudden wind, her slack mouth opening and a rumbling, low voice began speaking.

"_The Knight of White, the Seer of Truth: _

_He, pure of Heart; She, Sayer of sooth._

_Born of the Light, yet dark with great pain,_

_Their joint Ascension shall herald a New Reign._

_Blind to each other so shall these two be,_

_until she comes along, a Warrior Queen._

_Her path shall they walk, at her side yet alone;_

_From her despair, the Light shall they glean."  
><em>

Santana blinked. What? This was far beyond what she could deal with and she knew it. Her hand was already cramping from trying to write down everything Brittany had said, but a lot of words she didn't understand, and she sure heck didn't know how to spell them. And since when did Brittany deliver in rhyme?

"Try to hang on, Brit. Mom!" Santana screeched. "Aunt Ashley! Brittany needs help!"

Quinn stared at Brittany in fascination. "You're witches," she breathed.

Santana grunted. "What of it?"

"I'm one too," Quinn whispered.

Santana's eyes widened as all three of their mothers tore in the room, questions dying on their lips as Brittany continued. Ashley Pierce immediately took out a pocket recorder and switched it on.

"_The Knight will face trials of incredible breadth:_

_A father, a witch, a daughter, and Death._

_His Heart shall shatter again and again,_

_and only the Hunter shall cause it to mend._

_The Seer's path will be no less dark,_

_and she will lose much before finding her mark._

_A fall through space, and one from grace;_

_a martyred life will begin her race._

_When the Knight falls, the Seer descends._

_Reclaiming her throne, several hearts will she mend._

_The Knight will acknowledge only his Queen_

_and only through him can She ever be seen."  
><em>

"Dear God," Judy Fabray murmured, eyes wide.

Lydia Lopez and Ashley Pierce dimly registered her exclamation but ignored her. Memory spells existed for a reason.

_"_ _An army will gather to bolster their rule,_

_yet one of their strongest will be but a fool._

_As the Queen is anointed, the Knight becomes King._

_Beacons of hope, the Bells of Heaven will ring._

_The Sisters Three shall be torn asunder,_

_their line broken by a temporal blunder._

_The call of Two will be answered, though not as expected._

_Another one comes who must not be rejected._

_The Twice-Blessed approaches; the heavens will tremble._

_The Omega will travel but must never dissemble._

_Love and Valor will prove themselves true_

_and the Line will spawn Magic anew."  
><em>

Lydia and Ashley exchanged a glance.

There was no doubt this prophecy was, in part, referencing the Charmed Ones, but what exactly did it mean? Had the Power of Three been broken? Had something happened to one or all of the sisters?

They didn't know the Charmed Ones except through myth and legend; no one did. There had been rumors that they had been activated a few years back, but no one knew their identity or where they were to be found, although speculation offered California as a possibility. Demons would know more, of course, but there were none in Lima, and as curious as witches were about the Charmed Ones and their line, questioning a demon to discover more about them really wasn't a top priority.

"_The Last Scion rises as the Lioness falls,_

_Three cubs surround him, reinforcing his walls._

_As an angel departs from the hereafter,_

_only the Scion can halt the coming disaster._

_The Queen will awaken, Her transformation complete._

_And Judgment at Her hand shall the world meet._

_Her pronouncements are final; Her words resolute._

_The tainted will tremble at Her rebuke._

_And the Scion shall be Her Hand._

_The Pentad approaches._"

Lydia's eyes widened to the size of banjos. Ashley gasped. Judy stared.

Brittany gave an exaggerated blink and then began bouncing up and down with excitement. "Did I have an English accent this time? I really want an English accent!"

* * *

><p>Prue robotically navigated the hallways of the hospital, lost in thought and paying no real attention to where she was going. She only dimly registered the notion that she need not have bothered anyway. She could sense Kurt.<p>

It was utterly bizarre. There was a dim buzzing in the back of her mind that told her where he was, that he was in no immediate danger, and that he was mildly anxious. It wasn't bothersome, not exactly, but it was still a foreign presence in her mind and was therefore unwelcome. She was sure she would grow accustomed to it – would even come to be thankful for it – but she wondered how Leo could stand it, especially given that he had more charges than just her sisters.

She had no idea how she was going to approach him or what she was going to say. How was she supposed to tell her sweet little cousin that his mother was dead? And that was to say nothing of how he would react upon seeing her. As far as he believed, she had sent him away from San Francisco three years ago. She and her sisters had tried to keep in touch with him, but he had resisted and finally refused to come to the phone to receive their calls.

Of course she now remembered the spell and its effects; she knew it wasn't her fault. They had been trying to protect him. That didn't mean, however, that Kurt would see it that way.

And then, on the heels of delivering the news of his mother's death, she was to tell him that he was a witch with special powers? She shook her head. Why would he believe her? She wouldn't, were she in his shoes. Hell, she _had_ been in his shoes once and had laughed at Phoebe after she had pronounced them witches.

For the first time since this had all started, doubt crept in to her thoughts. Could she do this? Could she really play the role of Leo for someone else? Especially someone who was so very young, someone who had just lost his mother?

But then she thought of what might happen had she refused. She didn't know if she could keep Kurt safe, if she could truly help him in what he would eventually face. What she _did _know was that if she hadn't agreed, if she had just gone on into that white light, she would have spent eternity wondering and castigating herself for being a coward.

It wouldn't be easy. Kurt himself was not easy. Of course, neither was she.

But what if they were too similar? What if he pulled away from everything the way she once had? Kurt was now the age she was when her own mother had been killed. She had interacted with her family only because it had been required, because Grams had needed help with Piper and Phoebe. Still, she had locked a large part of herself away that day, and it had never truly been released. She had become sensible, responsible, helpful, and resourceful, but she had suppressed so many of her emotions, her willingness to be happy and have fun. It was only recently that she had begun getting back in touch with that side of herself.

And then she had died. Awesome.

She sighed.

She hesitantly pushed open the door to the nursery and ventured inside, wincing at the volume of the shrill cries of children of all ages, of toys being tossed around and played with, of off-key singing, and the general din that arose when children were gathered in one place.

In the middle of the room sat Kurt.

God, he was a beautiful child. He always had been, but two years had passed and they showed well on him. Prue could see glimpses of the man he would become, and that man would be stunning.

She suddenly had the realization that she would never have children of her own. She would never get married. She probably wouldn't be allowed to see Phoebe marry, or her and Piper have their own children. She felt so cheated, so _angry_. But this wasn't about her, and if one there was one thing Prue Halliwell knew how to do, it was prioritize.

Kurt sat in a small chair, his posture perfect, reading a book, the size of which she supposed she should have found alarming. Of course, she knew that children's books were much larger than her own had ever been, thanks to the _Harry Potter_ series. She was all for children reading. Most children didn't read _Anna Karenina_, however.

Kurt was.

He wasn't interacting with any of the other kids, nor was he heeding the cautious glances thrown at him by the staff. He simply sat and read, calm and contained in his own personal bubble. She could all but see the walls he put around himself. It set off alarm bells within her, mainly because it was so damn familiar.

She took another step forward and watched, mesmerized, as he carefully placed a bookmark against the page and shut the tome. He laid the book in his lap and looked up at her.

Jesus, his _eyes_.

How had she never noticed that he had _her_ eyes?

She had always thought his blue eyes were the hallmarks of his father, but the eyes too had changed. They were blue and gray and green, with golden threads. She immediately knew they would change color depending on whatever emotions he experienced, like mood rings. But the shape of the eyes, their color at that moment, the almost preternatural shine that bespoke of knowledge, were all hers. The cheekbones were another Warren legacy, and when his baby fat melted away, they would be so sharp they could cut glass.

"Hello."

She pursed her lips and willed away the tears in her eyes. "Hey, sweetheart. Do you remember me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, of course."

She raised an eyebrow in reply. Wow, he had that move _down_. Impressive little guy.

"Can I help you?" asked an irritated voice.

Prue blinked and turned to her left, to see a harried young woman regarding her with suspicion. "I'm here to pick up Kurt Hummel."

"And who are you, exactly?" the woman rudely demanded.

"This is Prue Halliwell, my cousin," Kurt answered.

The woman turned and gave Kurt a look of such condescension that Prue winced. "Now, son, I'm sure that you…"

"I am not your son," Kurt forcefully, yet politely, interrupted, "and I would appreciate you not referring to me as such. As I've told you, this is Prue Halliwell, my cousin. I'm quite certain as to who and who is not a member of my family, madam."

The woman's mouth fell open and she stared at Kurt, who immediately dismissed her from the conversation. He stood, tucked his book away in his small backpack, which he then placed over his shoulders. He walked over to Prue, looked up at her, tilted his head, and regarded her with placid eyes.

"Mommy has died, hasn't she?"

The staff member gasped. This time, Prue didn't bother to blink back the tears.

"Yes, baby, she has."

He frowned, nodded, and stared straight ahead. "Where's Daddy?"

"He's speaking with your mommy's doctors, honey."

Kurt nodded again and fell silent for a brief moment. "I have to be a big boy now. I have to take care of Daddy."

"You don't have…"

"I have to take care of Daddy," he repeated.

At last, she nodded. "May I help you with that?"

"You may." He raised his arms. "Up, please."

She swallowed heavily, bent at her waist, and hauled him into her arms. He weighed practically nothing, she noted. He was rather small for six years old, but he was also very thin. He didn't look unhealthy, but she wondered how well he had been eating since Suzanne had entered the hospital. She held him tightly to her as he wrapped his legs around her waist and his arms around her neck.

"I missed you," he whispered in her ear.

"I missed you," she murmured, ghosting a hand over his hair. "Every single day."

The daycare attendant finally emerged from her stupor. "You can't just take him!" she protested. "You're not on the list! I don't even know who you really are!"

Kurt stiffened in her arms and slowly turned around to face the woman. "My mother has just died. My father is all alone. I have already identified this woman as my cousin. Obviously, my father sent her to pick me up and bring me to him. If you really insist on being so very bothersome, you may contact my aunt, Lydia Lopez. She is the Chief of Cardiology at this hospital. I doubt she will welcome your interruption of one of her few days off, but please, if it will make you feel better, go right ahead. We'll wait."

The woman stared at him, flabbergasted. "Who _are _you?"

"I'm Kurt Hummel. Shouldn't you know that?"

Prue wanted to burst out laughing and barely refrained from doing just that. Kurt was far too young to be so articulate and combative, but it was endlessly amusing. Of course, she knew that she wouldn't appreciate his wit and candor once it was turned on her, but at the moment, in this entire surreal experience, the levity was welcome.

"I have to go see my dead mother now," Kurt said to the woman. "Thank you for taking care of me, even though I only sat in a chair and read for three hours."

A deep flush overtook the woman's face.

"Goodbye."

Kurt turned back into Prue's embrace and indicated they should take their leave. Far be it for her to contradict him.

So they left.

* * *

><p>Lydia, Ashley, and Judy were gathered in the Lopez kitchen. Richard Lopez was working late at his law office and wasn't expected home for several hours. They scheduled their working hours down to the minute to ensure maximum time spent with their daughter, as Lydia didn't believe in babysitters unless absolutely necessary. Ashley, who didn't work, often took care of Santana, but as she was considered family, and Lydia herself returned the favor with Brittany whenever possible, they didn't regard the hours their child spent with the other as babysitting.<p>

Lydia was transcribing Brittany's prophecy from both Santana's notes and the recorder, knowing Ashley was too wound up from recent events. The nervous wringing of her hands was a dead giveaway.

Ashley peered speculatively at Judy, who was desperately struggling to remain calm.

"I had no idea there were other witches in Lima," Judy whispered, more to herself than her friends, "and I never would have expected the two of you. I've felt so alone, so trapped."

"Does Russell know?" Ashley carefully asked.

Judy snorted with derision. "Are you serious? He'd most likely burn us at the stake. You know what the Bible says about witchcraft, and Russell is such a _good_ Christian when it suits him." She raised an eyebrow. "I think he's screwing the grocery store clerk this month," she frowned, "or is it the paralegal? It's so difficult to keep track."

Lydia looked up from her notes. "I think the better question is why you put up with him."

Judy shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "He's my husband. He's Quinn and Emily's father."

Ashley looked at her sympathetically, but Lydia was having none of it. "And what effect do you think it will have on Quinn and Emily to see their parents in a loveless marriage, one in which their mother is constantly disrespected and belittled, where she feels she must hide herself? Whether or not he's your husband, he will always be your daughters' father." She sighed. "Judy, I like you a lot; you're a good friend. So for your sake and for that of your daughter, get rid of him."

Judy bit her lip but said nothing.

"Do you have powers?" Ashley asked.

Judy nodded. "Only a passive one. Psychometry."

Lydia's eyes widened. "Impressive."

"If you say so," Judy said, shrugging. "Why didn't either of you ever tell me?" she suddenly demanded, her anger palpable.

"It really isn't something we advertise," Ashley said wryly, "and please forego the self-righteousness; you never said anything to either of us. I know you and Lydia are close, Judy, but you and I know each other enough to say hello in the grocery store or the bank. I was not about to spill my secrets to you, especially considering that you might have let something inadvertently slip to that brute you call a husband. Brittany is very special, very unique. I will not allow anything to harm her."

Judy fell silent, recalling with vivid clarity the prophecy the girl had spoken in Santana's bedroom. That kind of power was simply astonishing. Prophecies were almost unheard of in the modern age, and for a mere child to deliver one so complex, so obviously important and compelling, Brittany had to possess an amazing amount of psychic ability.

She looked at Ashley with concern. "Does she have an active power?"

"No," Ashley muttered. "I doubt she'll develop one either. My family has always possessed psychic gifts, but Brittany is different. She possesses all of them: clairvoyance, precognition, and retrocognition, as well as a few others. She sees everything. It is very difficult for her to walk through this world, to interact with people, because she sees every possibility, every moment in time. What it was, what it could be, and what it will be." She sighed. "Thank god for Santana."

Lydia reached over and grabbed her hand.

"Kurt helps too," Brittany piped up, pulling a frightened Quinn and a bawling Santana into the room with her, "and now we have to help him." Her face was fierce and determined.

Lydia raced forward and swept her daughter into her arms, Santana burying her face in her mother's neck. "What happened, darling? And what's wrong with Kurt?"

"Who's Kurt?" Judy whispered to a pale Ashley.

"Kurt Hummel, the girls' best friend," she replied. "His mother Suzanne is very ill. She doesn't have much longer."

"Aunt Suzanne came to say goodbye to me," Brittany said. "She said I have to protect Kurt." She glared at her mother. "No one hurts my Kurty."

"Suzanne is dead?" Lydia gasped. "Oh, god. Oh my _god_."

"Brittany, sweetheart," Ashley said slowly, forcing her grief for Suzanne and the Hummel boys to the back of her mind for the moment, "why do you have to protect Kurt?"

"Because the spell will soon be broken," Brittany replied. "His magic will be free now."

Ashley stared. "Kurt's a witch?"

Brittany nodded. "Aunt Suzie locked his magic away to protect him from the demons. Kurt is very strong, a lot more than me and Quinn, even stronger than Sanny."

"We'll help him, Brittany," Quinn vowed. "He'll need us now that his mommy had to go away."

"His mother must have bound his powers," Judy said softly, "but what demons? There are no demons in Lima."

"I want to be with Kurt!" Santana wailed.

"What else did Aunt Sue tell you, Brittany?" Ashley gently asked.

Brittany frowned, obviously considering the question. "Kurty is very important. He's the last of his line. He wasn't expected. He's something new."

The three women looked at each other, puzzling over her words.

"Santana," Lydia said, "I need you to listen to me, alright? This is extremely important. Did you know that Kurt is a witch?"

Santana sniffled and reluctantly nodded. "Brittany and I knew."

"Has he told anyone else?"

"Why would he?" Brittany asked. "He doesn't even know."

"What!" Lydia and Ashley thundered.

"Brittany could see his power," Santana said, "but she said it was locked away. So we didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him."

"You were probably right," Lydia replied, hugging her daughter close to her. "I'm just not sure what we can do. If Suzanne bound his powers, there must have been a valid reason to do so. Demons, I'm guessing, like Brittany said." She shook her head. "But there are no demons in Lima!" She sighed. "I can't believe all these years I never knew Suzanne was a witch. She was my _best friend_ and she never told me." Her eyes spilled over. "Oh god, she's dead. Suzanne is _dead. _I need to call Burt."

"Aunt Suzie told me not to bother Uncle Burt," Brittany said. "She told me to call for Aunt Prue."

"Who?" Ashley asked.

"Kurt's aunt," Santana answered. "She's going to live with them now and take care of them."

"Who the hell is this woman?" Lydia demanded. "Suzanne and Burt are only children, so there's no way this person can be Kurt's aunt."

"Let's find out!" Brittany chirped. "Aunt Prue? Aunt Prue!"

"What are you doing?" her mother asked.

Brittany looked at her, puzzled. "Calling her."

"Sweetheart, I don't think Aunt Sue meant…"

Prue orbed into the Lopez kitchen, Kurt wrapped around her, and her free arm wrapped around Burt Hummel's waist.


	4. The Once and Future King

**Author's Note**: Thanks to **Dangel110** and **gleefulpotterlockian **for pointing out the continuity error with the name of Quinn's sister. In the previous chapter she was called Tracy or Tricia or something, and in this one, she is called Emily. Emily is the name on which I decided, and chapter three has been edited appropriately.

* * *

><p>Santana flew to Prue's side, ignoring the older witch as she reached out with her hands and tried to gain some purchase on Kurt.<p>

"Kurt!" she warbled.

Kurt startled and pulled his head from Prue's shoulder. "Hello, Santana. How are you?"

Santana stared at him, as did everyone else.

Kurt began to prattle, either uninterested or uncaring of his audience. "Mommy died and went to be with my sister and grandmother. Prue's going to help me take care of Daddy now."

Burt blinked heavily, trying to throw off the shock of his wife's death so that he might parent his child. "Baby boy, Prue is here to help me take care of you."

Kurt cocked his head and considered his father. "If you say so, Daddy," he said, clearly disbelieving.

Burt couldn't help but laugh, though it sounded and felt hollow. He felt guilty for finding even a modicum of light in the dark wake of his wife's death. He could almost hear Suzanne scolding him for being ridiculous.

Kurt tapped Prue on the shoulder. "Down, please."

She acquiesced and gently dropped him to his feet. Immediately, Santana and Brittany were all but on top of him, hugging him to within an inch of his life and crying quietly over the loss of their aunt. Quinn watched this with sadness and envy, turning shy and awkwardly looking down at the floor.

"It's all right," Kurt said to his girls. "Mommy had to go. This isn't her place anymore. Now she doesn't hurt."

"Did she come to say goodbye to you, too?" Brittany asked, sniffling.

"No," Kurt said slowly. "Did she come to see you?"

Prue and Burt exchanged startled glances.

Brittany nodded. "Aunt Suzie said that Santana and me and Quinn had to protect you because you're special, but I already knew that because you're too pretty not to be special and your skin is really soft. Can I kiss you?"

"I suppose," was his bewildered reply.

Brittany immediately attached her lips to his, the others watching this development with confusion and concern.

"You kiss really good," Brittany said, panting heavily, after Kurt gently pushed her away.

"_Well_, Brittany," he corrected. "People kiss _well_, not _good_."

She nodded. "I'll remember," she promised. "You kiss very well."

"Thank you. Who is Quinn?"

That was a question to which Prue also wanted an answer. She could only assume that the other older female present was Quinn's mother. Before she could even open her mouth to posit a question, she felt three more bonds snap into place; while she had been expecting those of Santana and Brittany, the third was a surprise, which meant Quinn was to be the fourth member of the Pentad.

Well, that certainly was convenient. Hm.

"She is!" Brittany said grandly, turning around and pointing at the other girl, who had wrapped her arms around herself for lack of anything better to do.

"Hello," Kurt said.

"Hi," Quinn said shyly.

"You're very pretty."

His blunt demeanor indicated to her that he was being truthful. "I know. You're pretty, too."

He nodded. "Yes."

Santana rolled her eyes. "Welcome to Club Narcissism."

Kurt raised an impressed eyebrow.

She glared and swatted him. "I can know big words!"

Quinn put her hands on her hips and huffed. "It's not narcissism if it's true."

Kurt liked Quinn and told her so, much to Santana's veiled displeasure.

Quinn smiled widely and skipped over to join him.

As the three girls surrounded Kurt and cooed at him, the adults unconsciously came to stand next to one another, though Burt noticed that Kurt kept one eye on him and Prue.

"Is he handling this too well?" he asked her.

"I honestly don't know," she replied, looking uneasy.

In truth, she was somewhat overwhelmed by her ability to sense three new people. The bond with Kurt, though considerably stronger, given that they were kin and shared a power, had been much easier to assimilate because she was already familiar with him. She didn't yet know the girls, but their magic, even at this age, was incredibly powerful. After Kurt, Santana was the strongest, but Brittany and Quinn were certainly in that rarefied league. She could only wonder how Leo had managed to be bound to her, her sisters, and countless other charges. Her respect for the man grew exponentially.

She cleared her throat. "He shifts so rapidly between adult and child that I can't get a firm reading on him. When I went to pick him up in the daycare center, he was sitting by himself, reading _Anna Karenina_. Then he looked up and saw me, politely bitched at the attendant who tried to stop me from taking him, and then demanded that I carry him to you."

Judy's mouth fell open.

Burt snorted. "I guess he finished _The Catcher in the Rye_."

Prue's eyes widened. "Seriously?" She shook her head. "I know he's smart, but that's just ridiculous."

He shrugged a shoulder. "He's a sponge with an eidetic memory. His vocabulary is already at a high-school level and he speaks four languages. The administration at Patton Elementary wanted Suzanne and me to skip him to the fourth grade when the fall term starts."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you doing it?"

He shook his head. "We considered it, but thought there would be problems with the other kids in the class. Kurt's already small for his age and bringing a big brain into it seemed a little dicey. Still, we decided to leave it up to Kurt. We asked him if he was interested, but he refused. He wouldn't leave Brittany or Santana." He looked at his son. "Or Quinn, apparently."

Prue and the other women turned toward the children. Santana was sitting in Kurt's lap with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Brittany was grooming the boy's hair, which surprised those who knew Kurt and were familiar with how particular he was about his hair. Quinn was whispering furiously into Kurt's ear and he nodded at whatever she was saying.

Judy couldn't believe how easily and _quickly_ Quinn had taken to Kurt, who seemed just as enamored. That alone proved to her just how magical this boy was, because Quinn, for all her loneliness, had no real use for other children. She knew her daughter had only agreed to this sleepover so that she wouldn't have to be subjected any further to Rachel Berry. As bizarre as all of this was, if Quinn could come out of it with three good friends, Judy was definitely counting it as a win.

"Burt…" Lydia said quietly, her voice strangling on the sob trying to burst forth.

"I know, Lyddie," he said, patting her arm. "I know." He paused, swallowing heavily. "I saw her, after, when Cassie called her spirit from the body."

Judy and Lydia stared.

Ashley frowned. "Cassie?"

"Cassie was Suzanne's whitelighter," Prue murmured. "Kurt and your daughters have been assigned as my charges."

"A whitelighter?" Judy reverently uttered. "I thought they were just legends."

"No witch in my family has ever had a whitelighter," Ashley remarked, forcing a casualness into her tone which she hoped would not betray her concern or resentment.

Prue shrugged helplessly. "I don't have an answer for that. This is all new for me too." She gave them a wry smile. "I've only just died."

Lydia's eyes bulged and she shook her head. "Apparently Suzanne told Brittany that you are to be Kurt's aunt?"

Prue nodded. "I thought that would be easiest. Suzanne isn't from Lima and her family isn't known here. I figured _Aunt Prue_ would be less objectionable to some than an unknown cousin close to Suzanne's age just suddenly moving in with her widower and son. So, as far as anyone else will know, I'm Suzanne's sister."

"I never knew she had cousins," Ashley said.

Judy stared at Prue. "Who are you, really?"

Prue raised an eyebrow. "My name is Prue Halliwell, Suzanne was my cousin, and Kurt and Burt _are_ my family. Until my death, I was the eldest of the Charmed Ones."

Judy and Ashley couldn't even begin to process that statement, but Lydia had already moved on to more important things.

"Kurt is a Warren witch," she said softly. She knew what that meant, both for him and her daughter. She could only guess what would be expected of Kurt, and knew Santana would always stand at his side. She also knew that there was no force on this earth which could separate Santana from Kurt. That had been apparent from their very first meeting. The thought of predestination had never been so terrifying.

"He is," Prue said fiercely, nodding, obviously proud of her little cousin.

"The Power of Three is broken," Lydia whispered.

"No," Prue answered. "I have another sister. The Charmed Ones will be reconstituted."

Burt's eyes widened as an unwelcome thought entered his mind. "Prue," he said lowly, "do you think your death was engineered?"

The eyes of the other three women widened.

Prue gave him a long, measured look before replying. "I think we have to assume so. Everything happens for a reason, but I believe it's fairly obvious what the reason behind this was. I had to be put into a position where I could help Kurt the most, but as to _whom_ engineered it, I have no idea.

"Given that I was killed by Shax," she continued, ignoring Lydia's choked gasp, "it would be easy to assume that Evil played a role in this, though I think that's too pat an answer. Any speculation would be pointless."

He nodded uneasily. He could read in her eyes that she was just as unsettled as he, but was determined to put it behind her. She probably had to in order to function. Still, a nagging feeling of guilt persisted. Whatever the reason, whatever grand destiny was to unfold for Kurt, the simple truth of the matter was that, for all intents and purposes, Prue's life had been sacrificed for his.

"She's not a pawn, Daddy," Kurt said, his mouth turning down into a frown. "In the most basic terms, the war between Good and Evil can be likened to a chess match. Two forces are constantly battling for position, either pushed forward or compelled to retreat. This is no different. Even if Prue were a pawn, upon her death she reached the Queening Square and can now return to the Game as any piece she wishes. In the end, it doesn't really matter who or what was responsible for this. They made the foolish decision of underestimating my cousin."

He raised an imperious brow and nodded to himself. "It will be their undoing."

Burt gaped, as did the other four women, Kurt's vow ringing with a certainty that recalled Brittany's prophecy.

Kurt turned to Prue. "Your death will not go unpunished. I promise you this."

"Who is this boy?" Judy whispered in awe, shaking her head.

Prue stared hard at Kurt. "You know everything, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. "About magic, that you're a witch, about your powers. The spell never worked on you, did it?"

"For all intents and purposes, no."

"Oh, god," Burt hissed, gagging on bile.

"It's all right, Daddy," Kurt assured his father. "I'm not angry. I understand why you and Mommy made the decision you did. It's not your fault that the spell didn't work completely."

"Completely?" Prue pressed.

Kurt gave her a small smile. "You and the sisters forgot something elementary, Prue. Just because Mommy was an empath doesn't mean I inherited the ability from her. Empathy is not necessarily a Wiccan power. When you were cursed to be an empath, that power was stolen from a mortal, not a witch."

Prue gaped at him, feeling inordinately stupid and resenting it.

"My empathy is a human gift, not a magical one. I'm what's known as an absolute empath, and therefore my power is not bound by magical standards. I've researched this extensively, of course. Theoretically, there is no upper limit to my ability."

Burt stared helplessly at his son, while Prue and the other women desperately puzzled over Kurt's words.

"My telepathy is also a human ability," Kurt continued, "I don't remember possessing it prior to San Francisco, so my only recourse is to believe that it manifested due to the absence of my Wiccan powers. I had to compensate. After I woke up and was back in Lima, I could hear Mommy and Daddy's thoughts quite clearly and determined the gist of what had happened."

He tilted his head and looked at Prue. "I want to thank you, and Piper, for fighting for me. If Phoebe and Leo had won and I had been forcibly separated from my parents, I very much doubt the Manor would still be standing."

She silently agreed with him.

"The spell bound only my Wiccan powers," he repeated, frowning. "I don't know what those are, but I can only assume they drew unnecessary attention to me. I can feel them, but can't access them. The telepathy and empathy, however, I can, and I've been able to for almost as long as I can remember."

Burt paled and had to sit down, as did Judy.

Prue dumbly shook her head. This changed everything.

Lydia and Ashley, long familiar with Kurt's intelligence and bluntness, exchanged a look and nodded, deciding to take control of the situation.

"Please do," Kurt said, smiling.

Lydia raised a brow. "Stay out of my mind, young man."

He gave a contrite nod.

"Can you?" Ashley gently asked him. "Can you control your powers?"

Again, Kurt nodded. "Not as well as I'd like, but yes. As I'm sure you can imagine, being so young, it is very difficult for me. I do well enough at home, or here or at your house, Aunt Ashley, but public places are much more taxing. The extraneous thoughts and feelings," he exhaled harshly, "can be overwhelming. Mortals think constantly and feel safe to do so within the privacy of their own minds. They should feel that way, of course, but there are some thoughts and emotions I would very much prefer not to hear or feel." He shuddered.

Burt felt as though he was going to vomit at any moment. All he wanted was his dead wife. He knew Suzanne could have dealt with this so much better, sharing one of Kurt's powers herself. Burt doubted if he would be able to deal with it at all.

Prue laid a hand on his shoulder. "I can only guess how you must feel, but we need to understand the context of this."

He nodded and looked at his son. "How strong are you, buddy?"

Kurt shrugged. "I'm not sure how to qualify my answer, as I have no standard against which I could measure my powers. That said, I've yet to come across a person I cannot read, except for Santana and Brittany. That's why I prefer to be with them whenever possible. Not only because I love them, but because they are, for me, the eye of the hurricane."

"That makes sense," Prue said, nodding. "I was told that Santana would be Kurt's anchor, that she would be the one person whom Kurt could not read." She frowned. "I don't understand why the same holds true for Brittany, however."

Lydia knew that her earlier supposition had been correct. Nothing would separate Kurt and Santana. They had all but been created to walk together through this life. Not to mention that she knew her daughter was already more powerful than her, and Kurt's own power was most likely incalculable. Separating them would never work, not for very long, and she wasn't sure she'd ever even consider the possibility.

Kurt gave another mild shrug. "Her mind is too chaotic. There are no stray thoughts because she spends a majority of her time cataloguing and organizing the information she possesses. It's overwhelming."

Brittany smiled triumphantly.

"Did you know we were witches?" Santana asked him.

Kurt shook his head. "Not exactly. As I said, I cannot read or feel either of you, but I get a sense of your powers, though I don't know what they are. No two witches are the same, even if they share a power. Mommy was different from me, though we shared a power, albeit of different degrees. I just knew that you were more than you appeared to be."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wasn't my secret to tell."

Santana hugged him fiercely. This was why she loved him so much: he always put the welfare of others, particularly her and Brittany, above his own. His natural instinct was to protect, just as her own was, though she wasn't nearly as self-sacrificing and had no interest in being so.

"This explains so much," Burt said in a choked voice. "Why you never spoke of San Francisco, why you refused to talk to the sisters, why you pulled away from your mother and me."

Kurt bit his lip and his eyes filled. "I had to, Daddy. It was all just too much. It was nothing you did, and even if I had told you, I don't think it would have helped. Mommy was an empath, but she couldn't shield herself because it had never occurred to her to try."

He sighed lightly. "Also, my empathy is much stronger than hers was. I could read the sisters even over the phone, how much they loved me and missed me and wanted to see me, but I knew that couldn't happen for a long time. I had to develop my own shield and, in order to do that, I had to retreat inside myself as much as possible. It was just something I had to learn to live with, but it's not _bad_. I'm not upset about it."

"How much do you know?" Prue asked in a defeated voice.

He raised a brow. "I cannot possibly answer such a vague question."

She grinned. "You're obnoxious."

"It runs in the family."

She threw back her head and laughed, long and hard and loud, and only slightly hysterically.

"There are things I could tell you about what I know," he said carefully, "but I don't think it would be very useful. In fact, it might be hurtful."

"I need to know, Kurt," Burt said softly.

The boy gave a gentle sigh. "All right. I've always known that Mommy was a witch. I've always known that I am one, too. I knew Prue and Piper and Phoebe were witches, were the Charmed Ones, because you and Mommy knew that. I knew that Mommy was pregnant before she did. I knew the baby was a girl before you told me."

"Could you read the baby?" Prue whispered.

He shook his head. "She had no thoughts or feelings as we understand them, but I felt her presence, her existence." He looked down at his shoes. "I loved her," he whispered. "I miss her."

A sobbing Brittany all but tackled him with a hug. Both she and Santana had been looking forward to Suzanne's baby, thinking of her as their own sister. They had been devastated. She looked at Santana and was unsurprised to see her mask of cold indifference descend. To those who knew Santana well, it was an automatic indicator of how terrified she was and how badly she was grieving.

"The baby…" Burt began.

"Her name was Lila, Daddy," Kurt said quietly, but forcefully. "Everything should have a name. Lila was hers."

Bitter tears spilled over. "How did you know that?"

Kurt smiled sadly.

Burt nodded and looked away.

"I felt no pain from her," Kurt added. "No sense of what was coming, on her part. That helped. I hope it helps you."

"It does," Burt said thickly.

Ashley was in tears, as was Judy for, though she hadn't known Suzanne, any woman who had been married to a man like this, who could birth a child like _this_, deserved respect and remembrance, as did her lost little girl.

"Did you know Aunt Suzanne was going to die?" Santana whispered.

"Yes. So did she." He cocked his head. "This is why I am the why I am. I have to be. I have to remove myself as much as possible in order to function. It's why I prefer individual activities rather than group activities. Ballet is acceptable because it's mostly silent and the other children are too focused on their dancing to worry about anything else. I participate in figure skating, gymnastics, piano, and voice for the same reasons."

Prue nodded, dumping all of this information into her brain and analyzing it as Kurt spoke.

"I feel everything," Kurt continued, "all the time. I feel the pain of other people, as well as their joy and their fear. I hear their thoughts, their concerns and worries and prayers." He paused. "I learn from them. I learned to read not from phonetics and memorization, but because Mommy said the words in her head before she spoke them. I could see the words there and learned to match them on the page.

"My Spanish improved because Santana and Uncle Robert _think_ in Spanish. I do well at gymnastics because I learned them from Prue and Phoebe; I read their muscle memory. I do well in figure skating because Aunt Ashley was a figure skater; I know how to do the jumps and spins because she does."

Ashley frowned, considering his statement. She didn't feel it was accurate, and she worried that anything which made Kurt special was considered by Kurt himself to be borrowed information or talent, which wasn't the case. Kurt, at six, was far more talented a figure skater than she had been at sixteen. He may be prepossessed of knowledge, but that meant little in the long run; it was what he did with it that counted.

"And it's getting stronger," Kurt said. "I can pick up stray thoughts from people in passing cars, from other neighborhoods. It can be very trying to shut them out. This is why I don't like touching people or being touched, because when contact is made, I not only feel their emotions, but I see them. I see, in their minds, the images from which those emotions are born."

He shrugged. "I learned to block Daddy out for the most part, even before I could talk. It was very hard, and I know he believed that I didn't like him, but that was never the case. I've always loved Daddy. It was that he thinks so much, _feels_ so much, that I could no longer distinguish my thoughts and feelings from his."

Burt inhaled sharply. His boy had always loved him; that had never been the issue. Instead, his constant worry and fear that Kurt disliked him had actually caused Kurt to turn from him. His poor baby must have been so confused.

"I never had to block Mommy," Kurt continued. "Even though my empathy is much stronger than hers was, she never realized I had that power. Also, even though she couldn't shield herself, she was used to reining in her emotions; it had become second nature to her in order to deal with the stray ones of others. So she felt my emotions, but her love for me overwhelmed them and unintentionally created a feedback loop. We could read each other perfectly, but she just assumed that I was intuitive, picking up on her cues." He shrugged again. "Perhaps that was the case, or maybe she was just in denial that I was a witch."

His brow furrowed. "In fact, she most likely was, as there has never before been a male Warren witch. Since my powers were bound in San Francisco, I can only deduce that that they must have exhibited themselves in some manner. I don't know how, as the spell worked well enough to take those memories, but it meant my Wiccan powers were active prior to that. Even if I had never before displayed any particular defensive or offensive power, she should have sensed that I had them." He cocked his head. "Interesting."

His face cleared and he rolled his shoulders.

"I feel and read all of this, so much of everything," Kurt said quietly. He paused, gazing into Prue's eyes. "But I won't be ruled by it."

She flinched, remembering similar words spoken by the slain whitelighter, Natalie, but she now understood them in a way she hadn't then. In the end, it was about survival and nothing more. It wasn't that Natalie hadn't cared for her charges, and for the Charmed Ones and Leo, even for the entire world, but she had realized that letting emotions overwhelm her would make her useless to those she was meant to help.

Kurt was strong because he had to be, not necessarily because he felt that he was or even that he wanted to be. He had detached himself from the world around him and the people in it so that he could survive.

He nodded at her. "You will have to learn that, as well," he cautioned. "It's not easy."

She grinned, though it was pained. "I know. It's happening already. I can feel you and the girls in my head."

"What?" Santana asked.

"Us?" Quinn demanded.

Prue nodded. "I'm your whitelighter as much as I am Kurt's. I'm able to sense you; your location and state of wellness."

"What does a whitelighter do?" Brittany asked, frowning.

Prue smiled. "It's my job to guide you as witches as you grow into your powers. I'll be your teacher, as well as your healer, a kind of doctor, if you're hurt because of magic."

Quinn stared, first at Prue, then at the other adults. She exchanged glances with Kurt and Santana. "What are we?" she asked. "What are we _really_? We're more than just witches."

Prue nodded. "You are."

Lydia, Ashley, and Judy looked at each other in fear.

"What are they?" Lydia demanded.

Prue held her gaze for a long moment. "The girls in front of you will one day be members of the Pentad. And Kurt will lead them."

* * *

><p>Burt listened with only half an ear as Prue once again went through her spiel about destiny and the world of the Slayer and the godlings and the First Evil and everything else.<p>

His eyes never left Kurt's face, and he was almost undone by the utter _boredom_ Kurt was exhibiting, as if this were nothing incredible, as if his entire life hadn't been stolen out from under him all in order for this never-ending cosmic chess game to continue.

Judy and Ashley hadn't wanted their children to be a part of this discussion but had been overruled by Prue, Lydia, and Santana, the latter of whom espoused that Kurt would just tell her anyway.

Kurt had simply nodded at her statement. "There's no point in hiding anything from us," he had demurred. "I'd pick it up eventually, and Santana, of course, is right; I would tell the girls. Forewarned is forearmed."

Quinn had nodded, as several pieces started fitting themselves together.

Kurt had turned toward her. "What prophecy?" he whispered.

She had gruffly sighed. "I'm never going to be able to lie to you, am I?"

He had frowned. "Why would you ever feel that you had to?"

She'd had no answer for that and merely crawled into his lap.

So the children sat in silence as Prue explained everything.

Ashley and Judy were practically hysterical. They didn't want this for their children anymore than Suzanne had, but, as witches, they knew their objections were all but useless in the face of the truth. Their hysteria was born from their feelings of utter uselessness, as if they had failed their children on a fundamental level.

Kurt scoffed. "Aunt Judy, that's just ridiculous."

Her eyes flew wide open. He considered her another aunt, in the vein of Lydia and Ashley?

"Of course I do," he replied. "You're Quinn's mother." He frowned. "You really should divorce your husband."

"Kurt!" Burt thundered.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I've thought that for _years_."

Judy's hysteria morphed into hysterical laughter, especially with the pointed glances of agreement Lydia and Ashley shot at her.

"What would I do?" she finally asked. "Where would I go? I haven't worked in years, and I have two children to support."

She surprised everyone by posing these questions to Kurt, who frowned in thought.

"Your elder daughter, Emily," he said, "is she a witch?"

Judy raised a brow. "Don't you know?"

He shook his head. "I picked up her name as a stray thought from Quinn, but Quinn hasn't consciously thought about whether or not her sister is a witch, and I'm doing what Aunt Lyddie asked and trying to stay out of your heads."

She smiled. "No, she's not."

"Does she know you and Quinn are witches?"

Judy nodded. "She does, but what does this have to do with anything?"

"Does she accept you and Quinn being witches? Does she support you?"

"Yes," Judy replied, frowning.

Kurt bit his lip. "I'm trying to formulate a plan. It's highly probable that Mr. Fabray will eventually see evidence of magic, especially as Quinn grows into her powers. He will not react well to this."

"No," Quinn said sullenly.

Kurt turned toward her. "Do you love your father?"

"Yes," she whispered, now looking down at the floor, "but I don't think he loves me. He doesn't love Mom, and he barely tolerates Emily."

Judy, embarrassed, wrung her hands and looked away.

Brittany tugged on Kurt's sleeve. "That's not right. You have to fix it."

The adults meant to interject, but Prue held up a hand to silence them. She wanted to see how Kurt would handle this. This was, in essence, his first trial as leader of his coven.

Kurt tilted his head. "My house has four bedrooms. I have one, Daddy has one, and Prue will have one, which leaves one extra." Though he said the words aloud, it was obvious he was speaking only to himself. "We'll redecorate the basement, and I'll move down there. That way, Aunt Judy can take my old room, and Quinn and Emily can share the guest room."

Burt blinked. "What?"

Santana startled. She _definitely_ did not like Kurt's idea.

Kurt turned on his heel and stared at his father. "Mr. Fabray hits Aunt Judy, Daddy."

Color flooded Burt's cheeks as he angrily breathed through his nose. Any man who raised his hand to a woman was, in Burt's estimation, not a man, but a coward who attacked weaker prey in order to deflect his own self-loathing. He would not stand for it, and he certainly wouldn't allow two young girls to bear witness to it.

Judy, now completely mortified, hid her face in her hands.

"Oh, Judy," Lydia whispered, "why didn't you tell me?"

Judy merely shook her head in reply.

Quinn, to whom Kurt's plan was already a foregone conclusion, looked at him. "Can't I share a room with you instead?"

Santana's eyes bulged. Okay, _that_ would not be happening. _Ever_. It was one thing to tolerate Quinn for the sake of witchy stuff, but it was altogether different to have a walking Skipper doll _sharing a room_ with _her_ Kurt.

Kurt shrugged. "I suppose. The basement is quite large."

Judy make some strange clucking noise, but Quinn waved her off.

"It's okay, Mom. Kurt likes boys."

Judy blinked.

"It's not fair," Brittany sniffled. "He's such a good kisser."

Kurt flushed.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Santana blurted.

Kurt turned toward her and raised a brow. "Why not?" he asked, honestly curious.

Santana took a moment to work out her answer. She had to approach this delicately, or else she'd just be accused of petty jealousy. Which was true, of course, but that was neither here nor there. Praise Hello Kitty he couldn't read her mind.

"It's really nice that you want to help, Kurt," she said carefully, "but what about your powers? It's one thing to pick up stuff from strangers, but it's something else to have people you don't really know living in your _home_. You'd have three new people living in your house, and that's a lot of thoughts and emotions you'd have to deal with. _All the time_. Are you strong enough to do that, especially now?"

Kurt paused. Her words had merit.

Santana was positive her smugness wasn't apparent.

"I agree," Prue said quietly.

Kurt opened his mouth to retort, but Prue cut him off.

"I'm not saying we shouldn't help," she continued, "but you're being irrational, Kurt. I appreciate that you care for Quinn, and I'm very proud that you're willing to do all you can for her, but you've just lost your mother. You already have two very difficult powers you're trying to master, and soon more will be added. Don't forget that Quinn is my charge, so of course I'll do everything I can for her, but you're my cousin. You have priority, whether you like it or not."

He glared at her.

"That doesn't work on me," she said, "and you have far to go before your glare even approaches the terror mine can induce." She shook her head. "I don't care how mature you are, Kurt. You're still your age. You don't get the final say on things."

He grimaced, but acknowledged her with a nod.

Burt wanted to laugh again, and only barely refrained. He supposed he should just be glad that Prue was willing and able to keep Kurt well in hand because, at this point, he would find it very difficult to refuse his son anything he wanted.

Quinn was furious and hurt. She had just been offered sanctuary only for it to be cruelly snatched from her. She hated Santana a lot right then, but she couldn't really blame her either. She was sure Santana was jealous and didn't want to share Kurt with anyone, but she also knew the girl was right; three new people, whom Kurt didn't even really know, living in his house would be overwhelming for him. She didn't want her new friend to hurt, and she certainly didn't want to be the cause of that hurt.

Lydia released a slow breath and looked at Judy. "Have you kept your license current?"

Judy frowned, confused, but nodded. "Of course."

Lydia nodded in kind. "Then you and your daughters will move in here until you can afford your own place. We have more than enough room, and I'm sure I'll be able to find you a position at the hospital. You're one of the best surgical nurses I know, Judy, and there's a severe shortage right now."

Santana certainly wasn't thrilled by her mother's generosity, but understood the necessity. She didn't want Quinn living in her house, but at least she would be able to keep an eye on the girl and her developing friendship with Kurt. She didn't want Quinn getting _ideas_. Also, she supposed she didn't want Quinn to suffer any pain. At least, pain which Santana herself hadn't inflicted.

"I can't ask you to do that," Judy whispered.

"You didn't ask; I offered," Lydia countered. "I'm sure Robert will represent you against Russell, and I really doubt Russell will make that much of a fuss. He won't want custody, and if we can arrange it so that he only has to pay child support and not alimony, he won't press things too far. He won't want certain issues to come to light in court. It would ruin his reputation in the community and surely get back to his board of directors."

Judy tilted her head and considered the words of her best friend. It really was the best option. She refrained from mentioning then and there that she had hired a private investigator to follow her husband. She knew far more than that of which he was aware; a few well-placed threats would neutralize him. She had to do this for her daughters.

Finally, she sighed. "I don't know why I waited this long."

"Because you loved him once," Ashley softly answered, "and he's the father of your children." She paused, eyes darkening. "That doesn't mean, however, that he has the right to treat you as he does. The longer you wait, the worse it will get, and eventually he'll start taking out his anger on other targets."

Judy paled and nodded, her hands shaking.

Quinn knew what that meant. "Daddy would never hit me. I wouldn't let him."

Santana cocked her head. "How could you stop him? Hey, what are your powers?"

Quinn smirked, dropped her chin to her chest, and suddenly two identical copies of her were standing on either side of her. The three figures then moved around at a ridiculous speed, rearranging themselves, and it was impossible to tell which was the original.

"Cloning," Lydia murmured. "Impressive, and very advanced magic."

Burt gaped. He could at least understand the gifts of his son and the Charmed Ones. Telepathy, empathy, telekinesis; these made sense, though they were relatively fantastic. He even allowed for freezing and premonitions, but _cloning_?

Kurt was utterly fascinated by Quinn's powerful display. "What are the limits of this particular power?" he asked the Quinn on the far right.

"How do you know she's the real Quinn?" Santana demanded.

He gave a mild shrug. "I can read her thoughts. They're replicated in her duplicates, of course, but also somewhat...muted." He blinked. "If we were to encounter a warlock with this power, it would give me pause," he allowed, "but my empathy is stronger than the telepathy in this case. Still, it could cost precious moments."

"Warlock?" Burt repeated. "What the hell is a warlock?"

"A warlock is a witch who betrayed his or her powers and uses them for evil," Prue lectured. "The literal meaning of the word is _oath-breaker_. After the initial betrayal, in which they commit themselves to Evil, they become upper-level demons, but the only way for them to advance their powers is to kill good witches. They then call that witch's powers and said powers become their own. Therefore, even the weakest warlocks typically have more magical abilities than some of the strongest witches. That doesn't mean their magic is stronger, only that they have more tricks of the trade, so to speak."

Burt nodded, slightly dazed. "But why are you worried about warlocks, buddy?" he asked his son.

"We have to consider every possible threat," Kurt explained. "You can't necessarily recognize a demon, because some look just like us, so we have to be prepared." He sighed. "Each of you thought your families were the only ones in Lima with magical gifts, but we've proven tonight that's not the case. There could be others. There could be demons. We just don't know."

He looked at Prue. "Is there such a thing as demonic children?"

She flashed on her misadventure with the Ice Cream Truck. "Yes," she said. "I agree with you; we should be on guard. We can't afford to take anything for granted. Once your powers are unbound, you could become a target. I can help you with one of your abilities, but if you've gained another, you should try to master it quickly."

"When will Kurty get his powers?" Brittany asked.

Prue frowned. "Actually, I'm surprised it hasn't happened. The spell should have departed when Suzanne did."

"Didn't Piper tell me that you three only received your powers after Phoebe read some spell or incantation or something?" Burt asked.

She nodded absently. "Perhaps we should check the Book."

"Do we have to?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yes," Prue hissed. "Kurt needs his magic, Burt."

Burt bit his lip.

"I'll be fine, Daddy," Kurt assured him. "You worry too much."

Burt stared at him and then released a harsh bark of laughter.

"What Book?" Lydia asked.

"The Bowen Book of Shadows," Kurt answered.

Burt and Prue glanced at each other and then at Kurt.

"How did you know that?" Prue asked.

He merely raised an eyebrow.

She pursed her lips. "Never mind."

Burt couldn't stand it anymore. "I don't understand any of this," he murmured, shaking his head. "It's too much. It's too soon."

Kurt toddled over to his father and gave him a hug. "Daddy," he said softly, "I know that Mommy died. I know what that means."

Burt's eyes welled.

"You saw her spirit," Kurt continued. "You know that she's moved on somewhere else, someplace better." He paused. "I'm sad, I'm very sad, and I will always be sad that she can't be here with me, with us, but we can't change that. We have to do what she would want us to do. That's the only thing we _can_ do."

Burt nodded miserably.

"Now she's with Lila and Grandma, and Aunt Patty and Aunt Penny and all of the rest. That doesn't really make it better, but it helps, because I know they're all watching over us. You know that, too."

Burt nodded again, feeling disgusted with himself for allowing his six-year-old son to comfort him. He should be comforting Kurt, helping him grieve, not taking advantage of his naïveté.

"Please don't feel that way," Kurt whispered. "Daddy, I may be only six, but I'm not naïve. Neither are the girls. We better understand what's going on in this world than most adults. Children have fought wars and built nations. Please don't treat us as less than that just because we're young."

Lydia, Ashley, and Judy stared, unable to comprehend how a child so young could be so wise. It was disconcerting, upsetting their views of the world and their place within it. None of them, however, found themselves able to argue his words, or even wanting to argue them.

Burt flinched, his mind screaming that Kurt was wrong, was too young to understand, but he knew that was fallacy. Despite Kurt's intelligence and maturity, his son was also very pragmatic, able to maintain rationality when most would crumble. That outlook hadn't been gifted by magic or a stultifying intellect; it was just who Kurt was.

Still, he didn't want his son drafted into this nadir of Good and Evil. He wanted Kurt to enjoy his childhood and his friends. He wanted Kurt kept safe. The boy was still so innocent.

Kurt pulled back and took his father's face in his hands. "Daddy," he said quietly, though it rang throughout the room, "innocence is the only gift we're given in this life; for everything else, we must fight." His eyes were all but glowing. "In that gift lies purity, and in that purity lies strength."

Burt experienced a rush of emotions so profound, some so unfamiliar, he could ascribe them no names, but he was humbled as he stared into his son's eyes.

"I am strong, Daddy," Kurt said. "Not because I want to be, not because I have to be, but because I am." He tilted his head and smiled sadly. "Please don't ask me to sit on the sidelines. Please don't ask me to watch as this world falls away."

"I don't want to lose you," Burt whispered.

Kurt's eyes filled with tears. "Daddy, has it occurred to you that I'm much more likely to lose you? I have magic to protect myself and I'll use it to do just that, and protect you. Shouldn't I have that right? Shouldn't I be able to fight for my family?"

Burt didn't have an answer that wouldn't sound petulant or idiotic. How had it not occurred to him that his son must be terrified he might end up an orphan? How could he ask any less of his son than he would ask of himself? This was Kurt's family, as well, after all.

"We're not alone, Daddy," Kurt said. "We have each other and we have Prue. We still have Mommy, even though she can't be with us right now. We have Santana, Quinn, and Brittany. We have their families. One day, we'll have Piper, Phoebe, and Paige. We have to let that be enough, because it's just too sad otherwise."

Burt opened his mouth and, just as abruptly, closed it.

"I need your help, Daddy. I can't do this without you."

Burt picked up his son and settled him on his lap, recalling the words of Melinda's spell. "You'll never have to."

* * *

><p>The adults decided it best to continue the next day, as there was still much to discuss. They wanted to include Robert Lopez and Patrick Pierce, both of whom were also witches. Brittany refused to go home with her mother, wanting to stay with Santana, and cried when Kurt said he would be spending the night at his own house.<p>

Judy left to pick up Emily. She and her daughters would move into the Lopez mansion that night and would return to the Fabray house the following morning to retrieve their belongings. Burt and Prue informed her that they would accompany her and would brook no argument to the contrary.

Prue and Burt got little sleep that night, fretting to each other about Kurt and how he was handling the loss of his mother, thus pushing aside their own mourning, though both knew it was unwise to do so.

Kurt dreamed of his mother.

* * *

><p>They once again gathered in the Lopez kitchen. While the Hummel and Pierce homes were large enough to accommodate everyone, many felt they should continue their discussion where it had begun.<p>

Lydia and Ashley had explained, to the best of their ability, everything to their husbands, who were no more pleased than their wives. However, as Robert and Patrick were themselves magical, they knew there was little to be done. Interfering with prophecy was a dicey notion, and the consequences, no matter how well-intentioned, were always severe. Also, they knew Kurt and loved him as their own. They would never abandon him, so how could they ask their children to do the same?

Both men had been appalled by what Russell had been doing to Judy, and while Robert was particularly sympathetic, Patrick harbored some anger at the woman for not sooner extricating herself and her children from the situation. He was more than happy that he wouldn't have to involve himself and his family in that drama.

"Uncle Ricky!" screeched a cheerful Kurt, bounding into the kitchen with unfettered joy and throwing himself at Brittany's father.

"There's my little man!" Patrick exclaimed, throwing the boy into the air and catching him, before clutching Kurt tightly to his chest. Kurt's tiny arms automatically wound their way around Patrick's neck.

Ashley and Robert rolled their eyes; while each was loved by Kurt, the boy had always preferred Lydia Lopez and Patrick Pierce. Lydia was obvious, given her close relationship to Suzanne, but Patrick was chosen, many were sure, because he was exceedingly pretty. His golden hair shimmered in every light, loose curls artfully disarrayed, and his blue-green eyes always sparkled with happiness.

Burt just shook his head. He had the vague idea that his son would one day bring home a boy who looked a lot like Patrick Pierce. If said boy possessed half the personality and intelligence as Patrick, Burt would consider his son well-matched.

"How are you doing, kiddo?" Patrick softly asked Kurt, kissing his cheek.

"A little better," Kurt said. "Mommy came to me in my dreams last night. She said that she was happy and would always be watching over me. I knew this already, of course, but it was comforting to hear it directly from her."

Patrick nodded. He had loved Suzanne as much as Ashley, Lydia, and Robert, and while his grief was overwhelming, he refused to burden Kurt with it. He rested Kurt on a hip and shook hands with Burt.

"You must be Prue," Patrick said to the unknown woman, who nodded.

"It's nice to meet you, Patrick," she said warmly, though he detected an undertone of distraction.

"We were just at the funeral home," Kurt whispered, resting his head on the man's shoulder.

Patrick widened his eyes and cuddled Kurt closer. His wife was soon at his side, their daughter in her arms, who held out a hand to join with one of Kurt's own.

"Is there anything we can do, Burt?" Ashley asked for both herself and her husband, tears in her eyes. When the cold light of day had dawned, she had finally allowed herself to admit to her grief.

"Thanks, Ash," Burt said quietly, "but we've got it covered. Sue had made plans, so there wasn't much for anyone to do, other than pick a time and call the paper. She didn't want a viewing; the cancer had really eaten her up, and she didn't want to be remembered that way."

She stifled a sob and nodded.

"Where's Santana, Aunt Lyddie?" Kurt asked.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "She and Quinn are fighting over the bathroom, despite the fact that they don't _share_ a bathroom."

Kurt rolled his eyes in concert. "Girls," he said sourly.

Brittany thwacked his arm. "Hey! You spend more time in the bathroom than me!"

"Flawless perfection takes time," he drawled, "but I would never be so common as to fight for a bathroom. My natural superiority ensures that I don't have to."

She nodded. "Okay, Draco!"

They both lapsed into giggles, which brought Quinn and Santana running into the room, pushing at each other as they tried to get there first.

"Please don't fight," Kurt said.

At once, the girls stopped their shenanigans, though they continued to glare at each other.

"What's the plan for today?" Patrick asked.

"My Wiccaning," Kurt promptly said. "I need the grounding. I can feel my magic struggling to break free." He ducked his head, eyes pained. "It hurts," he said softly.

Patrick frowned, clutching the boy even more tightly to him. "Brittany and Santana had theirs when they were babies." He looked at Judy. "Did Quinn have one as well?"

Judy cocked her head. "Not a Wiccaning, per se, but I did have a blessing ceremony for her. Her father wasn't involved, of course. I don't know if I even have the power to conduct a proper summoning."

"All magical witches have that ability," Prue interjected. "You have a power, Judy, so it wouldn't be an issue."

"It doesn't matter," Kurt said. "The Matriarchs will bless all of us. We will call upon them again when we find our Fifth." He looked at Brittany. "Do you have any idea who it is?"

Brittany shook her head, her pigtails whipping about. "I know there are other witches our age. I've seen them at kindergarten and on the playground."

"You have?" several people demanded.

She nodded.

"Anyone we know?" Santana asked, somewhat irked that Brittany had never shared this information with her. She understood, of course. As Kurt had said last night, Brittany received magical impressions at an astonishing rate. It was all second-hand to her at this point, so she didn't bother sharing her knowledge unless it directly affected someone they knew.

"Not really," Brittany said, "and I don't even know for sure if they're witches or something else, like you are."

Robert and Lydia exchanged a look.

"Something else?" repeated an interested Burt, eyebrow cocked.

Santana flushed. "I _am_ a witch, just not one like Kurt, Brit, and Quinn."

Prue immediately threw up a shield which enveloped the entire room, much as she had the day previous in the hospital, to keep any potential spies at bay. "Santana, I know very what well what you are, and it is nothing of which you should be ashamed. Take pride in your power and the legacy into which you were born."

Santana's eyes burned fiercely as she nodded.

Prue turned to Lydia. "Do you want to explain, or should I? I'm assuming the Pierces already know?"

Lydia nodded. She called her daughter to her side and they each extended their left arms, the undersides facing toward the ceiling. Lydia waved her hand, dispelling two glamour charms. A marking appeared on the insides of both of their wrists.

"Santana and I are Phoenixes."

Burt and Judy had no idea what this meant and looked appropriately lost.

"Okay," Judy said slowly.

"And?" Burt grunted.

"This is nothing to be taken lightly," Lydia said. "Phoenixes are exceedingly dangerous. We're a clan of elite assassin witches, descended from the Burning Times."

"Assassins?" Judy repeated, eyes both skeptical and scared.

"Burning Times?" Burt asked.

"The witch trials," Kurt softly explained, "during the Middle Ages in Europe, and shortly after colonization here in the United States."

Burt blinked.

Lydia shook her head. "Our particular branch is descended from the Basque witch trials in Spain, which occurred in the seventeenth century under the Spanish inquisition."

Burt paled. Never had he consciously considered the witch trials, of the people who had been burnt at the stake simply because of who they were. He couldn't help but consider how his wife and son would have fared under those tender mercies, and he felt rage.

"The American Phoenixes are very different from the European ones," Lydia continued. "They are vengeful and amoral, using their gifts to fulfill the whims of the highest bidder. They were born from vengeance and seek to enact that vengeance on whatever target they're assigned. Our beginnings are shrouded in mystery, and the American Phoenixes prefer not to recognize their cousins, for lack of a better term."

Prue nodded. "American Phoenixes are said to have risen from the ashes of Salem with vengeance in their hearts. They have no allegiance to anyone save their burning anger, and will seek and destroy any bounty they're hired to assassinate, including other Phoenixes." She paused. "Most of this is fallacy. Phoenixes existed in Europe before they ever rose here; American Phoenixes just have better PR."

Lydia smirked. "An interesting way to put it, but essentially true. European Phoenixes are similar to Americans in that we all share some measure of the same abilities, but we're not amoral. We are a very insular community and do tend to segregate ourselves from other magicals, because we're erroneously considered evil due to the nature of our powers."

To demonstrate, Lydia suddenly disappeared from her husband's side and reappeared next to Patrick, lifting Kurt from his arms and taking him into her own.

"That's called shimmering," Prue explained. "It's typically considered to be a demonic power, but that's nonsense. It's merely one of dozens of methods of teleportation. Another common method is blinking, in which someone literally disappears and reappears somewhere else in the blink of an eye. Again, it's usually associated with demons, but I know for a fact that it's also a Wiccan power. A few years ago, my sisters and I went up against a warlock with this power, one he had stolen from a witch. Again, it's all a matter of PR. Magical powers are neither good nor evil; they just exist. It's what you do with your abilities that matters."

Everyone nodded.

Kurt looked at Santana with wide eyes. "Can you do that, too?"

She nodded and disappeared, only to reappear a second later right next to him. She began tickling his ribs and he shrieked with hysterical laughter. Santana smirked at him before both lapsed into giggles. Kurt then demanded that Lydia return him to Patrick. She huffed and complied.

"Shimmering is usually the first ability a Phoenix masters," Lydia said, "and it's considered a defensive power on its own, as it allows the Phoenix to escape dangerous situations."

Kurt, with his arms once again around Patrick, decided to try something. _Santana, if you can hear me, look at me, but don't let on that we're communicating._

Santana blinked owlishly and swiveled her head in his direction. _Whoa. I didn't know you could do this!_

_I didn't either,_ he replied. _Does Brittany have a power like yours, so that she can defend herself?_

_No_, Santana answered, her inner voice both sullen and fearful.

Kurt narrowed his eyes. _Well, we're going to have to do something about that_.

She smirked at him.

"Do all Phoenixes have the same abilities?" Burt asked Lydia, who nodded.

"Yes, but as Robert is also a witch, there's a strong possibility that Santana will inherit other powers. They haven't manifested themselves yet, and I'm not sure when they will, but it's entirely probable. At the present, Santana has one other power." She turned toward her daughter. "Show them, baby. It's okay."

Santana looked at her, considering. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders, moved away from Patrick and her mother, and adopted a defensive stance. She centered herself and then conjured a deadly athame and threw it at the wall. She quickly followed up with two more athames, each of which embedded themselves in the wall only millimeters from the first.

"Wow," whispered an impressed Quinn.

"What other powers will Santana develop?" Kurt asked.

Lydia released a controlled breath. "All Phoenixes are capable of shimmering and conjuration. As Santana matures, she will also develop agility and sensing, as well as the abilities of energy balls and power extraction. She will also be able to reform."

"Reform?" asked a boggled Burt.

Lydia nodded and looked at Prue. "Are you capable of throwing energy balls?"

Prue hesitantly nodded. "It's an elder power I possess."

Lydia nodded once more and steeled herself. "Do it."

Prue swallowed, conjured an energy ball in her hand, and threw it at Lydia, who allowed it to hit her before she disappeared in a swirl of dots, similar to those of a darklighter. A second later, she once again stood hale and whole.

"Sweet Jesus," Burt murmured, shaking his head in wonder.

"Reconstitution," Lydia explained. "It's not always foolproof. I could tell from the voltage that Prue wasn't really trying, which I appreciate. In general, Phoenixes are able to reform after attacks by lower-level and a few upper-level demons. It's a talent which should never be depended on completely. Shimmering away is always the best defense."

Several people nodded.

"As she grows, Santana will also develop the abilities to adjust her physical body to attack, as well as a high resistance to certain powers, usually temporal and molecular in nature."

"Like Piper's freezing ability," Prue mused.

Lydia nodded.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "So, basically, Santana can kick a lot of butt."

"Yep!" Santana said proudly.

"What about you, Uncle Robert?" Kurt asked.

Robert smiled. "I'm not as powerful as your Aunt Lydia or Santana, but I have the ability of deviation, which means I can return an attack to its sender. For example, if Prue threw an energy ball at me, I could send it back to her without it harming me. I also have the power of cloaking. That means I can make someone, including myself, invisible and unable to be sensed magically."

"That's amazing," Prue murmured. "So you could hide yourself, or any of the children, from whitelighters or other demons?"

Robert nodded. "Yes."

"What's your gift, Uncle Ricky?" Kurt asked.

Patrick grinned at him. "Well, let me put you down for a moment, and I'll demonstrate."

Kurt pouted spectacularly, but allowed Patrick to settle him on the floor.

Patrick moved a few steps away from everyone, then looked at Burt. He waved his hand, and Burt suddenly disappeared.

Kurt looked up at him. "Interesting."

Patrick grinned. "It's called apportation. It's the ability to teleport objects or people through space. I just sent your dad back to your house."

Kurt snorted. "If I were you, I'd bring him back. He's not likely to be happy."

Patrick's smile faltered and he hurriedly returned Burt to the kitchen.

A startled Burt looked around like a scared rabbit. "What the hell was that?"

Patrick quickly explained.

Burt heaved a sigh of relief, much to the confusion of everyone present. "That's good," he said. "That means you can transport any of us in case of attack."

Patrick nodded. "Everyone but myself. For whatever reason, I'm unable to teleport."

Kurt turned to Prue. "You can, however, correct? You could orb Uncle Ricky to safety?" he demanded sternly.

She nodded, amused by her cousin's obvious infatuation with Patrick Pierce.

Kurt nodded and raised his arms. "Up, please," he said to Patrick, who beamed, picked him up, and cuddled him closely.

Kurt laid his head on Patrick's shoulder and blinked innocently at the others.

"Do you have any other powers, Quinn?" Brittany asked.

Quinn shook her head. "Not yet," she said sadly.

"Well," Santana said, "cloning is pretty cool." She looked furious with herself for admitting it.

Quinn smiled shyly at her. "Thanks."

"What's your power, Brittany?" Kurt asked.

The girl shrugged. "I don't really have one. Not one that I could show you, I mean."

"Brittany is what's known as an Oracle, Kurt," Ashley quietly explained. "That means that she's able to see both into the future and the past..."

"Precognition and retrocognition," Kurt interrupted.

Ashley blinked and nodded. "She's also clairvoyant and clairaudient." She stared at him. "Do you know what those mean?"

He nodded. "Brittany is able to see and hear things beyond the realm of typical human perception."

Ashley smiled. "Very good, sweetie."

Kurt smiled bashfully and buried his face in Patrick's neck.

"She can also commune with Higher Beings and make prophecies," Ashley added.

Prue blinked. Brittany could communicate with Higher Beings? Those who existed beyond the realm of the Elders? Impressive, yet dangerous. It could also be a great boon to them.

"Prophecies?" Kurt suddenly asked, sitting up straight in Patrick's arms. "Like what Quinn mentioned last night?"

Ashley nodded. "Brittany made a prophecy last night before you arrived with your father and Aunt Prue. We didn't know what it meant at first, but after Prue's explanation of what you and the girls are meant to become, we were able to understand some of it."

Prue was now all business. "Did you write it down?"

"Of course," Ashley said, going toward the table and rummaging through her tote, emerging with a yellow legal pad. She handed it to Prue, who read through it quickly, and then went back over it more carefully, paying particular attention to the lines specific to the Charmed Ones.

"I can't say for certain how much of this has already come to pass, but some of it has," she said. "This should prove helpful."

Kurt signaled for Patrick to put him down. The man complied and Kurt walked over to Prue. "I'd like to see it, please."

She smiled down at him and passed him the pad, interested in his take on it.

Kurt took a seat at the table and the girls immediately swarmed around him.

"It was really long," Quinn said. "We should go through it line by line."

Kurt nodded. "I agree. Brittany, will you please read it to us?"

"Okay, Kurty!" She took the pad from him, narrowed her eyes, her tongue poking out from between her teeth. She blinked. "I said all this?" she asked Santana and Quinn, who nodded. "Wow."

"Should we take notes?" Quinn asked.

Kurt nodded. "Would you mind, Santana? You have the best handwriting."

She preened and ran to the island, withdrawing another pad and a pen from a drawer before returning to sit down next to Kurt. "I'm ready."

"They're already working as a team," Burt muttered.

Judy nodded, dazed. "I've never seen Quinn fit in so well with other children." She looked up at him. "I can't thank you enough for that. I thought she would always be alone."

Burt smiled sadly at her. "I thought the same of Kurt until he met Santana and Brittany. They have each other, and they have us. We can only hope it will be enough."

"It'll have to be," she said, her voice shaky yet hopeful.

"How did it go last night?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Russell wasn't home, which was no surprise. Emily is still asleep upstairs." She shook her head. "I can't believe I was so ignorant about how all of this was affecting her. Quinn has always been strong; it's who she is. Emily, however, feigns her strength. I know she's relieved to be out of that house, but she misses her father."

"Does she miss him, or miss who he should've been?" Burt gently asked.

She sighed. "The latter, I would expect."

"You did the right thing, Judy, and all of us will help you as much as we can."

She bit her lip, trying to control her tears. "Thank you," she said, voice thick. "I just feel terrible for placing this burden on you when you've just lost your wife."

He shrugged. "No burden, and certainly not on me. Our kids, though..."

She nodded. "We will protect them."

"Or die trying."

"It would be a good death," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. "Certainly better than at the hands of my husband."

"We won't let that happen," Burt said staunchly. "Don't worry about that asshole, Judy. We'll take care of you and of each other."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"So the first part mentions three distinct people," Kurt said, after Brittany had read the first stanza of the prophecy. "The Knight; the Seer; and the Warrior Queen, whom I gather is not the Queen referenced by Prue."

The girls nodded.

"The Knight and Seer sound like they're probably mortals, or at least started out as mortals."

Brittany bit her lip. "It doesn't say whether or not the Queen's a witch, just that she's a Seer. Seers don't have to be witches, right?"

"I wouldn't believe so," Kurt said slowly, looking up at Prue for confirmation.

She nodded. "I think that's a fair assessment. We'll have to do more research, but I think if she were a witch, she would be noted as such."

"The Knight sounds like he's really close to her," Santana said, "like a best friend or boyfriend, or something."

"It sounds like a lot of bad stuff has happened to them, or will happen," Brittany fretted. "We should help them."

Kurt laid a hand over hers. "We don't know who they are, sweetie, or how to find them. These things could have already happened. The prophecy doesn't offer a sense of time."

She sighed.

"Even if we knew, that doesn't mean we should interfere," Prue said. "Sometimes things have to happen in due course, even if they're bad."

Santana nodded. "Plus, it sounds like these things _have_ to happen in order for the Seer to become the Queen."

Kurt and Quinn nodded, rather dejectedly.

"What about the Warrior Queen?" Prue prodded.

"The Slayer?" Burt wondered.

"That makes sense," Kurt said. "That would fit her duties rather well, a mortal imbued with the strength of a demon to fight other demons. She's a soldier, an inexorable warrior."

Quinn cocked her head. "Then the Knight and the Seer are probably her friends, or at least fight with her. They have to know her, because the prophecy says they walk at her side."

Prue was now glad she had held back a few details from last night's explanation. She certainly hadn't counted on a prophecy, let alone such an informative one. It was obvious that the Knight was Alexander Harris; that nickname had been given to him by Angelus, now Angel, the new Champion of the Powers That Be.

That didn't account for the Queen, however. There were multiple possibilities as to whom might fulfill that role: Cordelia Chase, who had already left the Hellmouth for Los Angeles; Anya, the former vengeance demon who was now mortal and in a quasi-relationship with the Knight; Willow Rosenberg, the best friend of both the Knight and the Slayer; and the new witch who was about to join their circle. Prue hadn't been given the girl's name, only that she was coming.

"Then these people are in Sunnydale," Kurt said.

"Not necessarily," Prue said. "The prophecy could refer to people already at the Slayer's side, or people who have yet to join her. As you said, Kurt, there's no sense of temporality in the prophecy."

He sighed and nodded.

Prue was pleased at dodging that bullet. The last thing she needed was four prepubescent children haranguing her to take them to the Hellmouth, especially children who didn't yet have all of their powers or could exercise with control the ones they already possessed.

"We should at least keep our eye on Sunnydale," Santana said assertively. "Watch for news reports and stuff. We should know what's going on there, even if we can't really help."

Brittany and Quinn nodded.

"We really can't help, can we?" Kurt quietly asked of no one in particular. "We're not strong enough yet, and we don't have our Fifth. No matter how bad it is there, we shouldn't interfere. We could accelerate events that aren't yet supposed to happen, or cause halts to things which must occur."

"That's exactly right," Prue agreed. "I know it's frustrating, honey, but that's the nature of this work. It's hard, often thankless, and the waiting is horrible. It's easier said than done, but accepting that you can't save everyone, that you can't always make everything better, is half the battle."

He held her eyes for a long moment, and at last nodded. She could tell that he was convinced, but still unhappy. The girls looked mutinous, but would follow Kurt's lead for the moment.

"Let's move on and look at the next part," Santana suggested.

Brittany slowly read the next stanza as the others listened carefully to the words and tried to ferret out their meaning

"What about the Hunter?" she asked. "He sounds like the Knight's boyfriend."

"It's possible," Kurt said, shrugging, "but we don't know if the Hunter is male or female. We don't even know what kind of Hunter they are, or what _Hunter_ means."

Quinn groaned. "So we keep going."

"It says the Knight will face Death," Santana said. "Does that mean he's going to die? Because that seems kind of stupid. What's the point of including him if he's just going to die? He has a lot of stuff to do."

"Maybe it's not a literal death," Kurt said, "or perhaps it means he faces Death itself." He looked at Prue. "Is there such a thing?"

She nodded. "Yes, there is an Angel of Death. I've met him."

"Really?" asked a startled Patrick.

"A mortal was assigned to me," she said. "I was to protect him. I took my duty very seriously and tried to intervene when Death came for him." She paused. "I fought Death himself to keep my charge safe, but you can't defeat Death, not really. Eventually, everyone must face him."

"Did Mommy?" Kurt whispered.

"I don't know, sweetie," she said, "and that's the truth. It's very possible that he was in the room last night, waiting for her. I imagine that he was. He probably followed your mother and Cassie until Suzanne's spirit passed into the afterlife."

"So Death isn't bad?" Brittany asked, her nose scrunched.

"No, he's not," Prue said. "Death is sad, but not always bad. Yes, some people die in bad ways, ways that they shouldn't, but Death isn't evil. Death is a part of life, a transition from here to the hereafter. Death can bring relief from suffering and pain, as it did with your Aunt Sue. It's sad for us, the people who are left behind, but those who die go on to their next journey."

Brittany stared at her for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. "Okay."

"Well," Quinn said carefully, "it looks like the Knight meets the Hunter _after_ his fight with Death, so I guess we'll eventually meet the Knight."

"Makes sense," Santana said, shrugging.

"But something _does _happen to him," Brittany argued, "because after it does, the Queen comes for him and makes him better or different or something."

Kurt nodded. "I agree."

"Yay!" she cheered, before reading aloud the third stanza.

"So," Quinn said, "someone in the Slayer's circle will do something stupid, but it sounds like it works out okay?"

Prue held her tongue, positive the line referenced Willow Rosenberg. This was why she hated prophecies, or even general foreknowledge. She knew what Willow would eventually do, but there was nothing she herself could do to stop it. If she interfered, things wouldn't play out in the manner they should, nor in their proper order. She could end up doing serious harm.

Kurt slowly shook his head. "I'm not sure. It really doesn't suggest that things work out _well_, only that they _happen_. That could mean anything, really. What I think it's saying is that, no matter the mistake, the Knight, who is now being referred to as the King, and the Queen will attempt to reconcile said mistake."

"Huh?" Quinn asked.

Santana rolled her eyes. "If you're going to hang out with us, you need to learn Kurtinese. He uses really big words, but eventually you'll get the hang of it. Translation: someone does something stupid, and the King and Queen try to make it better."

"Oh," Quinn said, nodding. "Okay, then."

Kurt rolled his eyes as well, snatching the pad from Brittany and rereading the passage. "_The Sisters Three shall be torn asunder_," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Aunt Prue." The title by which he now addressed her was uncomfortable on his tongue, but he knew he had to become accustomed to it.

She ruffled his hair, ignoring his indignant squawk. "It's okay, honey. There's nothing to be done for it, and everything happens for a reason. The reason for this was to bring me to you and to bring Paige home."

Kurt nodded uneasily. "I would imagine that she is the one who must not be rejected?"

Prue nodded. "It won't be easy for any of them, but Piper in particular will be very angry and upset."

"You two were very close," Kurt said.

"We were. We're so close in age that we always saw each other as sisters, as equals, but with Phoebe, who's younger, we considered her almost our own child. It was a difficult dynamic to master, but eventually we got the hang of it. We all became close, but I was always closest to Piper."

"I can't imagine what she's going through," Burt said. "Piper was the epitome of the middle child, but now she's found herself the eldest of two others, one of whom she doesn't even know." He shook his head. "It won't be easy for her."

"She's always held on to her anger," Prue agreed. "She guards it closely, almost jealously, as if releasing it scares her." She shrugged. "Actually, it probably does. I was always angry, but anger fueled me. It fueled my magic. Anger was my trigger to access my powers, as fear was for Piper. I imagine that will change now."

"And Phoebe's trigger?" Burt asked.

"Need," Prue replied after a moment's thought. "Phoebe has always needed to do good, to _be_ good, either to be better than she believes herself capable of being, or to be better than others perceive her as being."

Kurt slowly turned and looked up at her. "I'm like you."

She nodded. "I know."

"What happened in San Francisco" he demanded, his little face purpling with anger. "Why did you send me away?"

She looked to Burt, who nodded, and sighed. "Five days after you and your parents had arrived, the Manor was attacked by demons."

"Manor?" Santana interrupted.

"Our house in San Francisco is called Halliwell Manor. It's been in our family for generations."

Kurt's eyes turned distant and hazy. "There's something more. There's something about that house that makes it different from any other place I've ever been." He sighed. "I wish Brittany could see it. She would know."

Brittany smiled at him.

"It sits on a Nexus," Prue said.

Lydia and Ashley gasped.

"Truly?" asked an awed Robert.

Prue nodded. "The Charmed Ones are its Guardians, much like the Slayer is the Guardian of the Hellmouth." She then explained the precise nature of a Nexus.

"So it was the power of the Nexus that I sensed?" Kurt asked.

"Yes, which is surprising," Prue said. "Before me and my sisters were made aware of the Nexus, we couldn't sense anything about it. Even after we knew, we never sensed it; we just knew it was there."

"What does that mean?" asked a frowning Burt.

"It means that Kurt is strong," she said. "Very strong."

Kurt dismissed the idea. "What happened when the demons attacked?"

Prue turned to him. "Phoebe and Piper fell first, and then so did your mother."

Kurt glared at nothing in particular.

"Your father was hiding you behind him," she continued. "I had been separated from everyone, fighting three demons in the conservatory."

"What did I do?" he asked, a small trace of fear present in his voice.

"You escaped your father and fought five demons, protecting your mother and my sisters, until I could get to you." She didn't see the need to sugarcoat it.

Kurt stared at her for several long moments. "How? What is my power?"

"Five demons," Lydia said faintly.

Quinn, Brittany, and Santana gaped at him.

"You used your telepathy to predict their attacks," Prue said, "which suggests _that_ was the first time the power manifested, not after your other powers were bound. Then you countered their attacks with a Wiccan power. Like me, you're telekinetic."

Kurt's brow furrowed. "I see."

Silence reigned for over a minute as Kurt processed the information.

"That's it?" Patrick finally asked as Kurt picked up the pad and began silently reading once more.

Kurt shrugged. "What is there to say? Let's get back to the prophecy."

Burt blinked owlishly then shook his head to clear it.

"The Twice-Blessed approaches," Kurt read.

"We believe that references Piper's future child," Prue said, and then launched into an explanation as to why it might be the case.

Kurt nodded. "And the rest?"

"No idea."

He snorted as Brittany began to read the last stanza.

"_The Last Scion rises as the Lioness falls; three cubs surround him, reinforcing his walls_."

"Mommy," Kurt whispered.

Prue and Burt startled and looked at each other.

"That makes sense," Burt said slowly. "Kurt is the last of the Bowen family and, until the Charmed Ones have their own children, he is the last Warren witch. Suzie always was a mother lion, and it's obvious the girls are the cubs."

"I have a question," Santana said.

"What is it?" Prue asked.

"Piper is married to Leo, right? He's a whitelighter."

Prue nodded.

"Well, I know how babies are made. Mom told me, and I told Brittany."

"Santana," Lydia hissed.

Patrick and Ashley exchanged a nervous glance.

"But Leo's dead," Santana rushed on. "So how can he make babies?"

Kurt blinked and then looked up at Prue, smirking.

"Um..." Prue said intelligently. "Magic," she finally said.

Kurt, Brittany, Quinn, and Santana all scoffed.

"Whatever," Quinn said.

"That just means she doesn't know," Brittany said.

Prue blushed and averted her eyes.

"_As an angel departs from the hereafter, only the Scion can halt the coming disaster_," Brittany read.

"Prue is the angel, and Kurt has to stop the yuckness," Santana said.

"Yuckness?" Kurt repeated.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, pardon me, but not all of us have swallowed a thesaurus."

Everyone snickered, save Kurt, who buffed his nails on his pants.

"More's the pity."

Prue and Patrick cackled.

Brittany read the final lines and then looked up at Kurt. "Does this mean I can call you Handy?"

He glared. "No."

"But it's your name."

"It is not," he insisted. "I am the Hand."

"You're handy."

"Brittany..."

"Hi, Handy!"

"I know where you keep your glitter pens."

She gasped and her eyes filled with tears.

"False tears do not work on me."

She hastily wiped her eyes and glared at him. "Fine," she seethed.

"I'm glad that's settled," he said primly.

"Well," Lydia interjected, trying not to snicker, "we worked through most of the prophecy. I really don't see what we can do with the information, other than try to keep up with events in Sunnydale."

The other adults nodded.

Burt wondered why they were treating this prophecy as though it were gospel, but he didn't voice his concern. First, it wouldn't go over well were he to question Brittany's power, which he was sure was legitimate. Second, the prophecy made mention of events which had already occurred, specifically Suzanne's death and Kurt being identified as the Hand.

"What do we do now?" Brittany asked, bouncing up and down in her chair.

"We summon the Matriarchs," Prue said, "and give Kurt's magic back to him."

* * *

><p><strong>End Notes<strong>:

Again, updates for this story will always be slow-coming, given the number of fandoms and characters to be reconciled.

Before anyone submits a review decrying my depiction of Kurt, allowing me to state the following: Yes, Kurt is a child, but he's abnormally in control of himself. As stated in the chapter, he has to be so that he can function. Imagine being a child and hearing the thoughts of everyone who crosses your path. Consider the number of times per day you think about love, family, hatred, enemies, fear, and sex. Imagine if you were a child and could hear the thoughts of every adult around you. It would be terrifying, and you would withdraw.

Kurt is not unemotional, but he is very, very reserved. He is often cold and indifferent. I don't find this terribly different from his early canon characterization, save that he is younger. I've merely supplied a magical/superhuman reason for his attitude.

Originally, this chapter was to be much longer, disproportionately so, and I've thus cut it back. You may feel that proper attention to Suzanne's death has yet to be given, but it will be. Keep in mind that all of the characters know for a fact that there is an afterlife and their loved ones continue in some for. This is, for them, _knowledge_, not belief. It comforts them. Burt witnessed Prue summoning the Matriarchs as well as Suzanne's crossing over. Suzanne is mourned, but there are other pressing issues at the moment. The next chapter will include her funeral, the revelation of the fifth coven member, and several time skips as events move forward.

The powers of the adults are fixed, but the children's will grow.

Also, Patrick Pierce is not a pedophile. He adores Kurt and considers him his own.

Finally, remember that this an extreme AU involving magical powers. The characters will appropriately be OOC.

Thank you to all of those who have read and reviewed. This story is proving to be one of my most popular. The number of reviews is not congruent with the number of people who are following the story. I'm not trolling for reviews; I'm more than happy with the thoughtful and encouraging ones I've received. As my profile states, I am a very slow writer, but none of my stories have been abandoned, including those that haven't been updated in a very long time.


	5. Passing the Torch

Burt and Robert had escorted Judy back to her house to gather her things, as well as those of her children. Her daughter Emily, sixteen, had taken the news of her parents' impending divorce even better than her sister. She was worried about her mother, of course, but after being informed about the probable future of her sister and the other kids, all of that worry had shifted to Quinn.

Quinn had convinced Emily that she would be fine and wasn't afraid of anything, least of all something that was yet to happen and couldn't be averted. Emily's response was shrieking, hysterical laughter, and she had never before been so grateful, or so filled with sorrow, that she had no powers of her own. She wanted nothing more than to protect her sister, but she was also terrified - terrified that she would be mourning Quinn sooner rather than later - and cognizant of the fact that she was more likely to end up a hindrance to Quinn than a help.

She knew from magic, but didn't understand it. Further, she had never desired to experience it. She had come to understand long ago that magic wasn't for her, and she was fine with that. She had grown up knowing her mother was a witch and had a power, but Judy's ability wasn't fearsome. At the end of the day, it amounted to little more than a parlor trick. Quinn's own power was, well, very cool, actually, but Emily had never really given it due consideration. She hadn't thought about why Quinn needed such a power or what would be expected of her, let alone considered that more powers would be added later.

While she was terrified for Quinn, she was terrified of Kurt Hummel.

His eyes haunted her. They were so exquisite, so unique. She had never seen eyes so innocent that were also so ancient.

It wasn't natural for a child to be in possession of such power, and it certainly wasn't fair for the weight of the world to be placed on his tiny, slender shoulders. She had stared down into his angelic little face and simply couldn't posit that this boy was to become the most powerful witch in the world. It was just wrong that whatever sadistic gods or deities or forces that governed the universe had forced him to bear this burden.

Perhaps what was most frightening was how calm he was about the entire affair. He had this eerie yet enviable air of self-possession about him, and it made her feel inadequate as a person and as a human being. As she had looked around at them, at her mother and her mother's friends and their husbands, at the other children, Kurt Hummel projected an aura which suggested he was the most rational person in the room.

"I will keep your sister safe," he had told her.

The most preposterous thing was that she had believed him! She absolutely believed in him, in his power and his goodness.

It hurt her heart to see this child's innocence dying before her eyes. She wanted to protect him and keep him safe, though she knew such an idea was ridiculous. He had already lost so much, would probably lose more and, here she was, putting her faith and hope in a six year old.

She escaped the Lopez house as soon as possible, desperate to lose herself in the mall and cling tenaciously to the remnants of what little remained of her childhood.

* * *

><p>While Burt, Robert, and Judy were at the Fabray house, Lydia had gone to the hospital to fast-track Judy's application. She rarely used the influence her position afforded, but had decided that it was more than acceptable in this particular case.<p>

Ashley had hightailed it over to the Hummel house to assess what needed to be done. Suzanne had been in the hospital almost a month before she died, and Ashley was sure the last thing on Burt's mind had been housekeeping. Surprisingly, however, there was little to be done, and she suspected that the majority of the chores had been done by Kurt. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She ran the vacuum and did a few loads of laundry before heading out to the grocery and stocking up on essentials for Burt, Kurt, and Prue. It wasn't much, but at least allowed her to feel as though she were doing something for them, as well as Suzanne.

* * *

><p>Patrick and Prue were left in charge of the children and the dynamic in the house was slightly strained. Brittany and Quinn were somewhat intimidated by Prue, having been told the legend of the Charmed Ones for as long as they could remember. Prue was beautiful and brilliant and had an air of confidence and competence. She was like an adult, female version of Kurt. Santana, well aware of own fabulousness even at such a young age, was not similarly burdened.<p>

Kurt, of course, was much more interested in attaching himself to Patrick and being carried everywhere, and the man was only too happy to comply. He and Ashley had longed to have more children, but Brittany's conception and birth had been difficult; it was unlikely they would be adding to their family. They loved Santana unreservedly, and would probably soon have similar feelings for Quinn, but Kurt was the son they had never, and would never, have.

Patrick's world revolved around his wife and daughter, but he had always planned on having a large family. He and Ashley had talked about adopting, and while they were still considering that option, Patrick was more than happy to lavish attention on Kurt, who lapped it up with abandon. He was well aware that Kurt probably had some juvenile crush on him, but he could have cared less.

Kurt was adorable and loving and so very smart, but there was also a sense of fragility and sadness about him. Kurt had never lacked parental attention or affection, so Patrick understood that he was not a substitute for Burt, who was one of the best fathers he had ever known. Kurt was just somehow more relaxed and freer with him than he was with his parents or surrogate aunts. Perhaps it was because Kurt sensed Patrick knew he was gay and was unbothered.

"How are you doing, baby?" he whispered to Kurt.

"I suppose I'm all right, Uncle Ricky," the boy replied. "I think that everyone expects me to fall apart because Mommy died but, for whatever reason, I just can't." He stared down at the floor, not blinking. "I saw her in the hospital after Lila died. I saw her as the cancer took more and more of her away. She was in so much pain, Uncle Ricky. She hurt so badly." He sighed softly. "I miss her - I'll always miss her - but she doesn't hurt anymore." He frowned and nodded to himself. "That's a good thing."

Patrick was unable to respond.

"And I know that she still exists," Kurt continued. "She lives in me. She'll live in my children. She'll always live, as long as there's someone to remember her."

Prue sat rigidly at the kitchen table as the girls ate the rather pathetic lunch she had prepared for them. She had no idea what to do or say. She wanted to help Kurt, but was completely out of her depth. His experience most definitely did not resemble her own. When Patty died, Prue had buried all of her rage and anger and resentment, holding it tight to her, as though by doing so, she was holding on to her mother.

But that was her and this was Kurt, and Kurt, at six years old, the same age as she when her own mother had died, was far more wise than she had ever been. He was wiser than she was now.

"I'll be able to see her soon," Kurt said confidently. "I will summon her, or one of the girls will, and she will come." He looked up at Patrick. "Magic is so extraordinary, Uncle Ricky, and I feel badly for people who don't have it. They have to fear and wonder and be angry, but I don't. I feel the loss, but I accept it because I know she continues. The fact that she does, the fact that I still have Daddy, is so much more important than my hurt feelings."

Patrick blinked back his tears and hugged Kurt tightly to him.

Prue said nothing and hung her head.

* * *

><p>Judy, with Burt and Robert, returned to the Lopez house with little more than her clothes and those of her children. As she had packed up her life, she had reached the depressing conclusion that she'd had little to show for it other than her children and her home.<p>

After she had gotten pregnant with Emily, Russell had insisted that she stop working, even though she loved her job and was an excellent nurse. She supposed her first act of rebellion had been keeping her credentials current without Russell's knowledge. Either that, or she had somehow known this day would come. All of her paperwork and jewelry she had deposited in a safe-deposit box at the bank, one under her own name and at a bank which Russell did not patronize.

Packing her children's belongings had been difficult, as she understood that kids tended to value their possessions; still, she knew there was little they would need in the short-term. Quinn had been easier as, outside of her Barbie collection, her youngest had never been much interested in toys; she, like Kurt, far preferred books. As far as Emily was concerned, Judy had packed her daughter's music, books, trophies, and the few stuffed animals the girl had kept. Anything else could be retrieved later.

She was most startled by how easily Quinn and Emily had gone along with everything, which only suggested she had waited far too long to leave. Neither of her girls had expressed so much as a thought that they would miss their father. It troubled her.

Burt and Robert helped her put the boxes in the appropriate bedrooms; she would make the girls unpack their things later. She was so thankful that Robert and Lydia had opened their home to her family, and she thanked the universe that they had enough room to do so.

She looked in on the children and found them dog-piled on the sofa in the media room, watching a documentary on Mars. All of them appeared perfectly at ease with their surroundings and with each other, no trace of the earlier friction between Santana and Quinn. In fact, Patrick had told her that once Kurt had arrived, the girls had ceased fighting altogether, far more interested in keeping him appeased than in their rivalry.

"How did everything go?" she asked Prue, who sighed.

"Just fine," the woman answered.

Judy raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

Prue blinked and turned to look at her. "Did you ever look at one of your daughters and get the feeling you were the one who knew nothing?"

Judy snorted. "All the time."

"Oh, good," Prue said, sighing again. "Kurt's making me feel very inadequate."

Judy laughed. "I imagine he makes quite a few people feel that way."

Prue was silent for a long moment. "I don't know if I can do this," she finally said. "He doesn't really need me, Judy. He knows far more about himself and the world than I could ever teach him."

"That's not true, Prue," Judy said. "He may not need another mother, and he might not yet need a whitelighter, but he does need his family. Burt told me earlier how much Kurt had missed his cousins, you in particular. He needs to know that there are people like him. He needs to know that he is loved as more than the son of Burt and Suzanne, and more than as an incredibly powerful witch."

Prue nodded, though it was bleak.

Judy bit her lip and shook her head. "No one is expecting you to be perfect, Prue, and you still have a lot to work through, considering what's happened to you in the past few days. All Kurt needs is for you to be there. He needs to know that you _will _be there for him, that you're not going anywhere. He just needs you to love him, and you already do. That's half the battle. Don't worry so much about what's coming. Focus instead on what's happening now."

Prue slowly exhaled and nodded again, this time with determination. "I can do that." She looked at Judy and smiled. "Thank you."

Judy grinned. "When you feel like you're out of your depth, just remember that everyone can use a big sister. You've been one before, so be one for him now."

Prue beamed.

* * *

><p>At mid-afternoon, they all gathered in the living room, the largest in the house and the one Robert and Lydia used to entertain. They supposed this event would qualify in some capacity.<p>

"What do we do now?" asked a nervous Burt.

Prue smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll call upon the Matriarchs, each of whom will bless Kurt."

"Will she be there?" he whispered to her.

"I honestly don't know," she murmured.

He nodded, but looked pained.

Kurt had insisted that the girls be present, and their parents were staying mostly due to curiosity. A Wiccaning was an intensely private ritual, and the fact that Kurt wanted their children, and thus themselves, in attendance made them feel privileged.

"Stay with me," he whispered to Santana, Brittany, and Quinn, each of whom nodded. Several of the adults made to protest, but Prue merely shook her head, ceasing their murmurings. If Kurt wanted the girls in the circle with him, they would remain.

Prue, Lydia, Ashley, Judy, Robert, and Patrick each lighted a candle and stepped away from the circle. Prue stood before it and raised her arms.

"_I call forth, from space and time, the Matriarchs of the entire Warren line. Mothers, daughters, sisters, friends; our family spirit without end. Gather now in this sacred place and bless these children with your grace._"

Burt swallowed heavily as the ghosts entered the room, far more than the number which had appeared in the hospital.

Judy stared as Ashley's eyes filled with tears. Lydia felt the swell of power enter her home and felt inadequate to host it. Robert was stoic, while Patrick was as weepy as his wife.

Patricia Halliwell was first, followed by her mother Penelope and Suzanne's mother Olivia, all of whom were smiling. The two latter stood three strides apart, with Patty standing behind her mother and slightly to the left.

Laura, Astrid, Helena, and Grace arrived, and then Deborah, Anna, Sarah, and Felicia.

Prue was startled to find herself staring at the doppelgangers of her and her sisters, Phoebe and Piper respectively: Pandora Bowen, Poppy Russell, and Pamela Baxter. They merely smiled and waved gaily at her. Apparently whatever differences they had in life had been resolved in death.

Behind them, other Bowens, Russells, and Baxters appeared, names unknown and whose lines had been lost to history. Prue was shamed by her own ignorance. The ghosts began forming a circle. Prue frowned, puzzled by the positioning.

Charlotte then arrived, followed by her granddaughter, the first Prudence, and then Melinda appeared. She stood directly in front of Penny and Olivia. Finally, at last, Suzanne appeared, looking radiant, healthy and hale, standing next to Patty.

Kurt gasped softly and tears filled his eyes. Until that very second, he hadn't believed his mother's presence would be allowed. Santana and Brittany grabbed his hands, holding them tightly in their own.

"A pentagram," Lydia quietly observed, looking at the five witches who were, by unspoken agreement, apparently in charge.

At once, the other ghosts moved to encompass the five.

"Make that a pentacle," Judy whispered.

"A Pentad of their own," Patrick murmured.

Ashley and Robert nodded.

Melinda smiled gently at the children. "Blessed be."

Brittany gaped, Santana gave a curt nod, and Quinn offered an elegant curtsy.

Kurt merely cocked his head and stared.

Melinda broke the circle and strode toward Kurt, meeting his scrutiny with an equal intensity. She looked down into his eyes. "Such power," she breathlessly marveled.

"You started this," Kurt said. "Thank you."

Melinda blinked. "You are welcome, young one," she said, caressing the apple of his cheek. "I am sorry only that you have been beset with such burdens, but I am confident you will meet and then surpass them."

He nodded. "I will."

His tone was absolute, brooking no argument to the contrary, and it was obvious that he had not only accepted his task, but expected to triumph. He wouldn't allow himself to do any less.

Melinda beamed. "Call for your Book, Kurt Elijah. It awaits its master."

He frowned. "I am master over nothing."

"You are the master of your magic," Melinda said. "It is yours to command." She paused. "You must understand this, Kurt. You must not allow your magic to control you, for it will seek to do so. The amount of power you hold is astonishing, far more than any witch in this room has ever, or will ever, possess."

Kurt continued to stare at her for another long moment and at last nodded. He held out his hands, closed his eyes, and silently called for his Book. He almost collapsed from the weight of it when it appeared in a shower of golden orbs.

"My god," Judy whispered, looking upon the Book with awe.

"This is the history of our family, Kurt," Melinda said, voice grave, her eyes once again meeting his. "This is your legacy."

He slowly shook his head. "No," he said, looking past her toward the Matriarchs. "I'm theirs."

The other women smiled with delight at his comment.

Melinda smirked. "You are worthy."

"I will try," he said solemnly, though his voice was tinged with a heretofore unknown vulnerability.

"You will succeed," Melina said staunchly, "and we will help you."

"Thank you," he whispered, clutching the book to his chest.

One by one, the Matriarchs stepped forward, the circle they created moving and shifting like sand, as they blessed Kurt and, at his insistence, Quinn, Brittany, and Santana.

"They are his family," Melinda said to those in the room who doubted Kurt's wisdom in the matter.

"More witchiness can't hurt," Brittany said, shrugging a shoulder.

A delighted laugh escaped Melinda's mouth. "Indeed."

Quinn nudged Santana, who turned toward her and frowned.

"She talks like Kurt," Quinn whispered, tilting her head toward Melinda.

Santana cocked her head and finally nodded, acknowledging that particular truth.

The blessing ceremony ended with Suzanne, who cupped her son's face in her ghostly hands. "You will triumph, my darling."

He nodded solemnly. "Will I be able to summon you?"

"You call me when you need, baby, and I will come," she said warmly.

He frowned. "You have to go."

She nodded. "For now, but I will always be with you."

He looked up at her with large, dewy eyes. "Why doesn't it hurt more?"

"Because you understand that life goes on, and it goes on for all of us. Death isn't the end, Kurt. As I told your father, nothing ends. We go on; we become better."

"Do you miss us?"

Her smile was radiant. "I have no need to miss that which I haven't lost."

He dwelled on her words for a long moment and at last nodded before throwing his tiny arms around her waist. For those few seconds, she became corporeal. "Bye, Mommy."

As they embraced, the others silently observed.

Charlotte, who it could be argued began the line when she birthed Melinda, was stoic. She had borne witness to her daughter's suffering and the losses their entire family had endured. She was proud of them, of course, of their triumphs in the face of crippling adversity, but until this moment, she had never experienced awe of what magic was, of what it could do, and of those who could truly wield its power.

Kurt Bowen Hummel awed her.

Melinda watched with a calculating gaze. This boy was easily the most powerful witch the Warren line had ever produced, yet she didn't fear for him as she had many of those who had preceded him. She suspected this was, in part, due to the prophecies which surrounded him. Kurt had been bred to hold this power, but he was also determined enough not to let it rule him. This was a rare combination, a delicate balance many witches ten times older than Kurt had yet to realize.

Patty was saddened that Kurt's destiny would be as troubled as that of her daughters. She was disgusted that so very much would be expected of him. After her death, after Penelope had bound the powers of the Charmed Ones, Patty had been furious, enraged her mother had so hindered her daughters. Now, however, she considered that perhaps her mother had done the right thing after all, allowing the girls some semblance of a childhood. Were it up to her, she would bind Kurt's powers immediately and spell him back into ignorance.

Penny was enthralled by the entire affair. She could sense the magic within Kurt, could literally see it rolling off of him in waves, and it had yet to be released! Such power was unfathomable, yet there it stood before her, housed in the slight body of a child, a male child. Oh, but this boy was unlike any other she had encountered. He had wisdom and determination coupled with a generous compassion that was not consumptive. Yes, he would do well. She was looking forward to watching him as he matured.

"What happens now?" Kurt whispered to his mother.

She ghosted a hand over his hair. "It's time for you to do your homework, young man. Read your Book."

He looked up at her and nodded. She released him and stepped back.

"To whom will you grant access?" Melinda asked.

"Daddy," Kurt immediately replied, "Prue, and my girls."

Said girls swooned at his proprietary address.

"Not the others?" Charlotte asked.

"No, not yet." Kurt shrugged and dismissed the matter, unconcerned what anyone else might have thought about this or whether or not they were offended. He turned toward Santana. "If you would?"

She blinked.

"An athame."

"Oh. Yeah, okay." She conjured one and handed it over.

He placed the Book on a nearby table, took the athame in one hand, and sliced open the palm of the other. He then laid his hand on the Book, which began glowing. He calmly passed the blade to Santana, who immediately copied him. She then gave the athame to Brittany, who frowned, but nevertheless complied. Finally, it was given to Quinn.

She stared long and hard at it, understanding the commitment she was being asked to make. There was no turning back. If she did this, it was for keeps. The costs would be high. Could she do it? Well, yes, she rather thought so. Did she want to do it?

It wasn't as difficult a decision as she had feared. She cut herself.

The Book glowed mightily and then fell silent. As the children removed their hands, the cover flew open, the pages whipping about, before finally settling on the very first one.

Kurt calmly released a breath and began reading.

"_Hear now, the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night. The oldest of gods are invoked here. The great work of Magic is sought._"

He closed his eyes.

"_In this night and in this hour, I call upon the ancient power. Bring that power unto me. As I will it, so mote it be!_"

"So mote it be," many of the others softly repeated.

Kurt blanched and pushed the book into Quinn's arms before his knees swung together, pitching him forward.

"Kurt!" Santana yelled, moving toward him.

"No," Brittany said quietly, restraining her with an arm.

Santana glared mutinously but halted her attempt. She knew when to obey Brittany.

The house itself began to tremble: plaster cracking, beams groaning, picture frames rattling, mirrors falling from the walls, vases toppling from shelves, the foundation itself quaking. The chandelier above them began shaking, its crystals clinking together in a cacophony of musicality which was at once both soothing and grating.

Light began pouring through those crystals, though its source was unclear. A riot of rainbows danced around the room, bathing everyone in their prismatic glory before exploding, raining down upon them like diamonds.

"What is going on?" Lydia demanded of no one.

"His power is being unleashed," Melinda murmured. "I have never seen anything like this before."

"We had a small light show," Prue said, speaking of herself and her sisters, "but nothing so extreme."

Kurt raised his head, eyes glowing an eerie white, and screamed.

* * *

><p>Across the country, a young woman screamed in tandem as she watched one of her best friends, though she had yet to acknowledge him as such, sacrifice himself to save the world.<p>

Cordelia Chase had no idea of the gift, and curse, that had just been bestowed upon her.

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, Kurt was standing under his own power and assuring everyone that he was just fine, thank you.<p>

"How do you feel?" Patrick asked.

Kurt frowned, considering the question. "Whole."

He waved his hand and everything that had not been ruined during the Wiccaning returned to its proper place.

Kurt cocked his head and nodded, pleased.

Prue gaped. How in the world had he managed that, and on his first try? She'd had to channel her power through her eyes for the first year; it was only in the second that she had been able to channel it with her hands. Even then, she hadn't exhibited the strength or control her young cousin just had. As she looked toward the kitchen, she saw that everything had been restored and had no doubt that applied to the rest of the house, as well.

But that shouldn't have been possible! It was one thing to right that which had been knocked askew, but it something altogether different to knit back together things which had been broken.

Still, was it so surprising? Isn't that what Kurt was doing now, for all of them? Putting them back together in some fashion?

"Projection," Penny whispered. "My god, he has the power of _projection_."

"What does that mean?" Burt demanded.

Melinda released an unneeded breath. "It means that Kurt's powers are far more advanced than we had anticipated, especially given his age. Projection is the ability to bring forth into reality that which is held in the mind's eye. Kurt wanted Santana's home to be whole, and so he made it such."

For the first time since his mother's death, Kurt was afraid.


	6. Passages

**Author's Note**: This chapter introduces the bulk of the action. Time has jumped forward by about a decade and it's the summer before Kurt and the girls start their junior year of high school. The first season of _Supernatural_ is concurrent with these events; that is, this time is just before the series begins, with Sam still at Stanford. The entire canons for _Angel, Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, and _Charmed_ have occurred. The comics will be disregarded, but assume that Angel triumphed over Wolfram and Hart. The Senior Partners, however, have not been permanently vanquished.

Many events have happened between this chapter and the one previous, some of which will be referenced. Others won't be discussed until much later.

* * *

><p>Prue gave the kitchen sink a final swipe with the sponge and looked around with dismay, wondering what other chore she could perform to occupy her time.<p>

It had been ten years since she had been assigned as a Whitelighter to her cousin, Kurt Hummel. So much had happened in that time, most of it good, for which she was thankful. She still hadn't been allowed to contact her sisters, though she had managed to keep tabs on some of their more outrageous adventures. She was just grateful they had survived. From what she had learned about Paige, her littlest sister had filled her shoes admirably.

And Prue had been lucky enough to be given a new family to love and nurture. She considered Burt the brother she'd never had, and sometimes it was difficult to remember that Kurt wasn't her own child. She certainly hadn't forgotten Suzanne, who was summoned with regularity, but it was Prue who had been there for so many of Kurt's firsts. He regarded her as a combination big sister, favorite aunt, and surrogate mother. She was so damn proud of that boy.

Not that he was a boy any longer. He was about to turn seventeen and Prue found herself feeling old. Thank goodness she was dead and didn't age. She had neither the time nor inclination to worry about banalities like Botox.

She hummed tunelessly and sat down at the kitchen table, ruminating about her life since she had arrived in Lima. She supposed Kurt's approaching birthday was making her nostalgic. She refused to consider that she was getting sentimental in her middle age.

Speaking of the brat's birthday, she was in a quandary. She and Burt wanted to throw Kurt a massive party, as he hadn't been interested in a Sweet Sixteen, which he had insisted was a ridiculous tradition further spoiled by MTV. His eighteenth might see him already starting college the summer before the fall semester, so there was no guarantee a party would be had.

That just left this birthday.

The problem was that, two weeks ago, Kurt had received an invitation to attend Piper and Leo's fifteenth wedding anniversary party.

Of course he wanted to go.

Of course Prue and Burt had insisted he shouldn't, for any number of reasons which sounded lame, even to them. Kurt was equally impressed, and it was more likely than not that he would simply ignore their edict and do what he wanted. What he wanted was his family back, all of it. Also, it was no longer necessary to keep Kurt sequestered from the Charmed Ones, for he was more than capable of defending himself and pretty much everyone else.

The ease with which Kurt had taken to his powers, as well as the short window he had required to master them, had been remarkable. He was driven not only to be the best he could be, but to be as prepared as possible for what was coming. He was a perfectionist well aware of an approaching deadline.

There were already portents.

The primary Slayer had died and been resurrected, and then the entire Line had been Awakened. The supernatural world was still reeling from the ramifications and would be for some time. Willow Rosenberg, the Slayer's witch, had called forth all possible Slayers, thus fulfilling part of the prophecy Brittany had made all those years ago: _an army will gather to bolster their rule, yet one of their strongest will be but a fool._

Rosenberg _was_ a fool, at least in regard to this specific event. Easily the most powerful of the godlings, Rosenberg had a track record of making snap judgments where magic was concerned, not taking into account balancing her actions. The situation in Sunnydale had indeed been bleak, but rather than Awakening the Line, the Slayer and her cohorts should instead have tried to close the Hellmouth directly, rather than as a consequence of the vampire Spike's rather pathetic and lovelorn sacrifice.

Willow Rosenberg hadn't only Awakened all the Potentials, but, by activating them, inadvertently ensured that no more would follow. Potentials give birth to Potentials, and Slayers didn't conceive after activation. Therefore, while the world currently enjoyed a dearth of Vampire Slayers, as said Slayers perished, there were none to replace them.

And more died every day because they didn't understand their power, were completely unaware of it, or were being actively targeted by demons, who had specifically formed factions to eliminate these new threats.

The worst part about this was that the Slayer's group was unaware of this fact. That they hadn't put the pieces together cast a long shadow of doubt on their purported intelligence. Still, however, it must have been incredibly difficult to locate and monitor so many Slayers, especially since the Council had yet to be reformed. Buffy Summers and her small group were doing the best they could, but they were struggling. Things would only get worse.

Kurt had wanted to approach them, but the idea had been nixed by Santana, who felt it wasn't wise to go to the Slayer without some remedy in mind, and Brittany, who had simply said it wasn't time. Kurt had deferred to them, as he often did in matters of tactics and temporality.

Kurt was the unquestioned leader of his coven, but what made him a truly great leader was that he listened to those he essentially governed. Each had their own roles to play, and Kurt not only valued their contributions, but encouraged their exploration and deepening of their independent talents. They depended on him to lead, but he equally depended on them to guide.

Quinn was a brilliant strategist, able to devise long-term campaigns which involved complex planning and to spot short-term and overarching patterns most missed. She could connect Brittany's sometimes nonsensical ramblings with world events which had gone unnoticed by mortals. She was straightforward and plain-talking, and usually the eye of the hurricane in the midst of a crisis, which always focused her. She was the Xander Harris of their group, but with a lot more self-confidence. She considered Prue her idol.

Santana's forte was tactics, as befitted her Phoenix heritage, and there was no operation she had yet been unable to complete, almost always emerging triumphant. Quick on her feet and even quicker in mind, she could construct attacks and counterattacks on a whim. She always had a sense of what was going on around her, though she didn't necessarily depend on her intuition in the absence of some measure of proof. She was arrogant but grounded, and secure in her superiority, though willing to follow Kurt to the ends of the earth, Heaven, Hell, and back again. Her devotion to him was almost fanatical.

Santana was a combination of the late Cordelia Chase and Anya Jenkins.

Brittany was the baby of the group, the little sister, the one every other member defended the most zealously, though she was anything but incapable. She was also the Oracle, the wise woman in clever disguise, uncommonly fair and compassionate in the extreme. She was the negotiator, the peacemaker, and the one the others feared most. Her anger was righteous and a sight to behold, and no one wanted to be in her crosshairs. She was the new Piper Halliwell.

The Coven no longer feared for Brittany's safety as they once had. After learning that Brittany had no defensive powers and was unlikely to develop any, Kurt and the others had taken it upon themselves to write and then enact a secret ritual - one unbeknownst to Prue, their parents, and Brittany herself - in which each surrendered a portion of their own magic in order to keep Brittany protected. She now had an impenetrable shield at her beck and call, much like the one Piper's son Wyatt enjoyed. She was essentially indestructible.

And, finally, there was Sam Evans.

Sam was the long-sought after Fifth for whom the Coven had waited almost a decade to arrive. He was a combination of the others: intelligent, whimsical, and practical. He could soothe Kurt and go toe-to-toe with Santana. He could understand Brittany's strange chatter and interpret Quinn's silences. He was the ultimate balance, and the others were grateful for his presence.

The Coven's powers had matured and increased over the years, but once Sam had been added, there had been a literal explosion of magic.

Kurt had mastered his empathy and telepathy, able to control it at will, as well as his telekinesis, the maturation of which had granted him the ability to teleport. His projection ability had been much more difficult to learn and exercise, particularly once he had entered puberty. Emotions running high and hormones running amok, Kurt's physical maturation was something with which they were still contending. A recent growth spurt, however, suggested that, possibly, things would begin to level off.

In addition these primary abilities, he had added several more. His telekinesis had progressed to the point where he could now control the molecules of the air he displaced when using it. He could speed them up to the point of combustion, though this particular differed from Piper's similar ability, which was an offshoot of her freezing talent.

Kurt was now electrokinetic, which meant he could throw energy balls and lightning bolts. It had amused Prue that he had come to match her power for power, as well as in intensity. It made her feel so much closer to him and he was very relieved that he had someone who could instruct and help him train these new abilities.

Then there were the ones with which no one had experience, leaving Kurt to figure out their limits on his own. The first was the sonic scream, a defensive power which could be used offensively should the situation demand. Kurt was able to generate vocal sounds of a higher amplitude than a normal mortal, often to destructive levels. It was a power he used rarely and with great reticence. It unseated him for some reason he was either unable or unwilling to explain.

The second, and perhaps the most intriguing and dangerous, was knowledge absorption. Kurt could absorb intelligence from almost anything, both inanimate objects and people. It actually made sense in a roundabout way. Kurt could absorb information from books by merely touching them, but his eidetic memory also allowed him to recall everything he had ever read. The others questioned if eidetic memory was a magical power in its own right, especially considering Prue had one, as well. Kurt could also absorb knowledge from other people, usually via touch, in what was perhaps an advanced form of telepathy.

The drawback was that he could also absorb pain, likely due to his empathy, and this was a talent which often slipped past his control. Sometimes it were innocuous, as when he would absorb the menstrual cramps from the girls, but given how powerful they were and considering that, due to the amount of time they spent together, they were on the same cycle, the pain could overwhelm Kurt. He just usually didn't care.

Other times, however, Kurt had purposefully put himself in serious danger to ease the suffering of another. Despite the warnings and condemnations, Kurt continued to do as he pleased, as though he had a sense of what he could and could not handle. He most likely did.

Prue fully expected that this particular ability would lead to Kurt becoming an absolute empath, which would in turn allow him to heal others, though he was not a Whitelighter. The downside was that she also expected Kurt to develop the ability to absorb the powers of others, most likely during battle, and most likely those of demons and warlocks.

She didn't doubt his ability to handle and master them, but was fearful of the early days of such transfers. Despite his claims to the contrary, she knew he was unsettled by the amount of power he possessed. In words exchanged only between them, he confessed that he didn't think anyone should hold that much power.

His final major offensive ability was cryokinesis. Ironically, this was a power Prue had enjoyed in her past life as Pandora Bowen, but, as she had no real experience with it, the only advice she could give to Kurt was to practice the power as he did telekinesis, for they were related concepts.

In what could only be considered preordained, the same day which saw Kurt become cryokinetic also saw Santana granted the diametrically-opposed power: pyrokinesis. It was surprising when she had developed the ability, though not terribly so. Given that fire was the element which governed most Phoenixes, it somewhat made sense.

However, the amount of power Santana held within this one ability was staggering. When she used it in battle, flames would shoot from her fingertips before pouring forth from her eyes. When she bellowed her war cry, she screamed flames. Thus, she could both throw and breathe fire. She took considerable pride in the fact that Kurt often called her Draconia, and would blush when Brittany referred to her as _my little dragon_.

The ability was also considered, erroneously, to be demonic, which was utter nonsense. Just because demons and warlocks often had that power didn't mean the power itself was evil. Power was power; it simply existed. It was what one chose to do with that power which counted. Santana used it for good; ergo, she _was_ good. It was just that simple.

However, other witches might not see it as such, but then they would have to contend with the rest of the Coven.

Santana was only one of three witches walking the earth who possessed the ability. That both awed and humbled her.

Her other powers were more pedestrian, though nonetheless essential. Santana also simply had more internal power at her disposal than most other witches. She was strong - very strong - already perhaps in the league of a Charmed One, and her power would only grow.

Those powers were almost exclusively the dominion of her Phoenix heritage: agility, conjuration, shimmering, energy balls, reformation, and power extraction. She also had developed the ability to adjust, which meant she could resist and fight through attacks by enemies who wielded molecular powers, perhaps a derivative of her father's deviation ability.

After the Hellmouth in Sunnydale had closed, the one nearby in Cleveland had opened in response. More and more demons sought it out. They were also in search of the Slayers, who maintained a research and training facility downtown. The sudden influx of demons had spilled over into the surrounding counties.

Despite Suzanne's past belief that Lima was anything but a demonic mecca, demons were now turning up with regularity. They weren't the cream of the crop, so to speak, but they were dangerous, and the Coven, outside of simulations, had never received any real combat training. It was one thing to practice and drill and speculate; it was something else entirely to confront the reality.

There had been battles, some of which could have turned deadly. Demons were usually most attracted to Kurt, who, for whatever reason, released a slightly different vibration from other humans. One demon they had captured prior to disposal likened this difference to that of a Slayer. Thus, when encountered, Evil automatically and unconsciously sought it out.

As of yet, Kurt hadn't encountered a demon he couldn't handle on his own but, admittedly, he was dealing mostly with lower-level demons and a few warlocks. But more were coming, stronger in both number and power.

However, once Kurt was targeted, the others would spring into action. They were all much more invested in defending him than each other or even themselves. He had united them in a common purpose, a shared destiny, and their love for him simply wouldn't allow him to come to harm.

Brittany's abilities were somewhat set and all psychic in nature: clairvoyance, clairaudience, clairsentience, retrocognition and precognition, and hypersensation. She also had the powers of prophecy and communion, which meant she could communicate with entities that resided on the different astral planes of existence.

In addition to the shield gifted to her by the others, she had developed two other related powers, which were neither offensive nor defensive in theory, but could be used as both: noctephantasmos, or night vision, and photokinesis, with which she could conjure beams of light with her hands.

Prue often wondered if Brittany had developed these photonic powers in some sort of biological imperative due to her constant proximity to Santana. She didn't know, none of them did, and no one cared. They were just happy Brittany could protect herself.

Quinn's abilities had been a surprise. They were few in number, but packed a definite punch, some of which rivaled that which Kurt or Prue could deliver. Her cloning ability had remained much the same, but she had also developed two powers which were stunning in their scope.

The first was deflection, which was exactly what it sounded like: the ability to deflect the powers of another. However, Quinn had somehow managed, and no one knew quite how, to take it a step further. When she used it, the power that was deflected was not only sent back to its sender, but affected them the way it was meant to affect her. If Quinn was attacked by a demon with telekinesis, she could return the attack and cause her enemy to be tossed about like a rag doll, as had been intended for her.

The second, and perhaps the most dangerous, was negation. She had the ability to project a large electromagnetic field which would negate all other powers in proximity to her. One the one hand, this was extremely helpful in that, should they be overwhelmed, magic could be taken out of the picture, relegating the fight to a purely physical one. All members of the Coven had at least brown belts in Tae Kwan Do, Aikido, or Karate, and could thus handle themselves in hand-to-hand combat, whereas many demons were too reliant on magic to survive.

Prue and her sisters had learned that lesson the hard way. Phoebe had been a natural at Karate and Prue was a former gymnast, so they had taken to martial arts with relative ease. Piper, however, had been left to cobble together a fighting style she could manage and use to triumph. She had eventually succeeded, but Prue had vowed similar mistakes would not befall her charges.

Kurt had kept up his gymnastics training as well as figure skating, winning several local, regional, and state competitions. He, Brittany, and Quinn had also continued to study ballet, though not with the fanaticism of their younger years. Santana's style of fighting was less elegant but more deadly. She was a street-fighter, a bar-brawler, and though she injured herself more than her friends did, her enemies were the least likely to get back up. Sam's style was similar, but less violent.

Quinn's nullification field also negated the abilities of the other Coven members, and she was often unable to control the length of time the field would hold. If they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, it would give the Coven time to run away, but once they fled the confines of the field, their enemies would once again have their magic.

Her final power was another method of teleportation, one which Prue herself had once enjoyed: astral projection. Quinn could project her form anywhere in the world, provided she had been there before. The only drawback was that there were warlocks and demons with similar powers, such as astral trapping, who could confine her to the astral plane and thus block her from returning to her body.

Like her deflection power, Quinn had also taken this ability even further.

Using astral projection, she could possess others.

Sam's powers read like something out of one of his beloved comic books. The first was invisibility, which he could utilize without a second thought. An offshoot of this was his power of intangibility; Sam was able to phase himself through solid matter without harm. This was applicable only to his physical body. He could not move other people or objects in a similar fashion.

He also had the ability of power manipulation, meaning he could alter the intended effects of another's magic. For example, if a Darklighter were to attack Prue, Sam could alter the magic of the arrow so that it was harmless to her. Kurt suspected, and Prue agreed, that this power would eventually mature to power channeling. While Kurt would one day be able to mimic the powers of others, essentially copying them should they be used on him, Sam would develop the ability to channel, if only temporarily, the powers of others.

This could be a great boon should, while under attack, the more powerful witches of the Coven, namely Kurt and Santana, be rendered unconscious or otherwise incapacitated. Sam would be able to use their powers to defend them.

Without Kurt, the other members of the Coven were almost on par with the Charmed Ones. Still, they knew it was wise to remain cautious. Prue had told him about the triumphs _and_ the failures of her and her sisters. She wanted her charges to be confident, but not arrogant.

With Kurt, however, they were all but invincible. He had a deeper understanding of his magic, an instinctual knowledge of its usages and limits, including what he could push past those limits.

He was the culmination of the most powerful line of witches ever to exist.

Well, except possibly for Wyatt.

That was another portion of the Great Prophecy which had come to pass: the Twice-Blessed had been born and he _was _the most powerful witch in the world in terms of the sheer _number_ of powers he possessed, but he wasn't Kurt. Wyatt's destiny was grand, but it was also finite, confined to this time in this world in this universe. The effects of Kurt's magic would be felt throughout the entire cosmos, for either good or ill, dependent on how successfully he managed his task.

Prue frowned, still concerned about some chatter she had overheard Up There. While she wasn't technically allowed to converse with other Whitelighters, the ones under the control of the Elders, she still had friends amongst their number, Andy Trudeau in particular.

She had been stunned when he had orbed into the kitchen one day, furtively explaining that he had managed to overcome the barrier the Elders had placed around her. Prue had been mightily pissed off that those assholes had had the audacity to do any such thing and, after her conversation with Andy, she had orbed Up There and blasted portions of their little paradise to bits. They should've have realized by then that there would be consequences if they interfered with her mission.

She smirked as she recalled how stunned they were that she not only had every Whitelighter power in existence, but that she had them in greater amounts than they did, not to mention that she had retained her Wiccan powers. They were no match for her, even _en masse_, and they knew it. After she left, they had never troubled her again, but they still kept the ban on her sisters summoning her just because they were petulant dickheads.

At any rate, Andy had promised to pass whatever information he could as often as he was able. Typically, it wasn't anything she was unable to learn from her mother and grandmother, but Andy was able to provide insight into how the Elders were thinking and approaching certain events.

Thinking about Andy was difficult. Before her own death, she had finally accepted his, and now they were both Whitelighters, albeit with different employers and drastically different goals. Andy had wanted them to start over, to begin again, but Prue had been unable. It wasn't that she loved him any less than when they had been alive, but her priorities were different now. Too much was at stake.

The truth of the matter was that she had fallen in love with one of her other charges, though he was, of course, unavailable to her. And that was okay. It really was. She just wanted him to be happy. He had earned that much, at least, and he had finally found a niche which suited him, rather than having to force himself into positions which others thought he should fill.

Prue shook her head and sighed. Even if Xander were available, neither of them would have the time to pursue a relationship. They each had important assignments which could not be neglected.

She still didn't understand the concept of the Twice-Blessed and why it was implied that it was applicable only to Wyatt. Piper's younger son, Christopher, was also born of a Charmed One and a Whitelighter. In fact, if rumor could be believed, Leo had been an Elder when Chris was conceived, thus suggesting that Chris might be even more powerful than Wyatt! She supposed only time would tell. Only Piper and Leo's youngest, Melinda, had been conceived after Leo had been made permanently mortal.

Christopher had brought about another portion of the Prophecy: _the Omega will travel but must never dissemble_. Chris had traveled back in time to prevent Wyatt from turning evil and subjugating the world to his whims. Chris had succeeded, though he had avoided revealing his true identity until the last possible minute, one which would have seen him never being created.

She had once orbed Up There to spy on her time-traveling nephew and get a sense of him. How her sisters and Leo hadn't recognized him for who he was, was beyond her. He was the spitting image of his mother, in both looks and temperament, only with Leo's eyes.

The last few lines of the Prophecy had also come to pass: _Love and Valor will prove themselves true and the Line will spawn magic anew_.

_Love_ was Coop, the Cupid whom Phoebe had married. That love had indeed spawned magic anew, namely in Prudence Johnna, or PJ, and Parker. According to Grams, Phoebe was again pregnant with a little girl. Her name would be Patience, a virtue Prue never expected her younger sister would possess.

_Valor_ had manifested in the form of Henry Mitchell, a parole officer turned San Francisco Inspector married to Paige. They also had three children: Henry, Jr. and the twins, Tamora and Kat.

Prue thought it was far too much of a coincidence that each of her sisters had borne three children, for a total of nine, a number magical in and of itself. She also suspected that Phoebe's daughters would become the new Power of Three when it came time for their mother and aunts to retire. If they were _allowed_ to retire, that was.

She had missed so much. She missed them so much.

Her sisters were lost to her, as were her brothers-in-law and nephews and nieces. After Piper and Phoebe, it was Leo she missed most. He had truly been her brother in everything but name. He was the finest man she had ever known next to Andy and Burt, and though Leo had his foibles, many of them, he was a wonderful person.

She also missed Darryl and Sheila, and their son, Darryl, Jr., or DJ, as he preferred to be called. They now had another son, Mikey, whom she had never met and was not likely to meet in the future.

She narrowed her eyes.

Fucking Elders.

She winced when the picture window shattered, and then sighed. She hadn't had such an accident in years. It was now incredibly rare for her emotions to slip past her control. Muttering the appropriate spell, she passively watched as the glass knitted itself back together.

"Okay?" Burt asked, wandering into the kitchen.

She turned and smiled. She loved this man so much. It had never become romantic, though they had shared a few moments which might have turned into more, but they had always kept their relationship as that of best friends, for, indeed, that is truly what they were. He was now dating Carole Hudson, a woman Prue found to be similar in personality to Suzanne. She liked Carole, and she liked how Carole had loosened up Burt.

Their children did not get along at all, but it bothered no one. Burt and Carole loved each other and accepted that not everyone was meant to get along. Kurt and Finn loved their parents and wanted them to happy, so they forced smiles and played nice, at least in front of Burt and Carole.

"I'm fine," she said. She had said that a lot over the course of her life, but these past years when she had uttered those words, she had meant them. "I was just thinking about everything we've been through, as well as what's to come."

He nodded, crossed the room, poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her. "You're still concerned about letting him go to San Francisco."

She nodded. "I am."

He raised a brow. "Do you doubt his ability to keep your existence under wraps?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Not at all, nor am I worried about one of my sisters ferreting it out. Phoebe may be empathic now, but she's not nearly as powerful as Kurt, who was bred for the ability."

"So what's the problem?" he asked.

"He _won't_ be able to conceal the fact that he's a witch. That's something Phoebe will recognize almost immediately. And that's fine; he shouldn't feel he has to hide from them, his own family." Her eyes darkened. "But that's the thing, Burt: they _are_ his family."

She held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. He has you and me, and he's able to call Suzanne whenever he wants. He's made Sam and the girls a family in their own right." She paused. "But they're his blood, Burt. They will want to know him. They will want their children to know him. He will want to know them, and he should be able to do that."

"So?" he prompted.

She pursed her lips. "San Francisco has beneath it a direct entrance to the Underworld. You've seen how demons respond to him. Can you imagine how they will do so in the environment of the Charmed Ones?"

He paled.

"They will recognize him as being of the Warren line and they will talk. From what I've learned, the Underworld is still in chaos and a new Source has yet to be chosen." She arched a brow. "However, once they learn a witch of Kurt's power exists, they will anoint a new Source in order to restore the balance."

He nodded warily. "This is because of the Rosenberg girl, isn't it?"

"Indirectly. When Willow Activated the Potentials, she caused a power vacuum. It has to be filled."

"Nature abhors a vacuum." His brow furrowed. "Don't you think Kurt and the others are powerful enough to take on any demons that might come here?"

She shrugged diffidently. "I'd like to say yes, but the truth of the matter is that I don't know, and that scares me. Frankly, if Kurt is going to be exposed, I'd feel better if he stayed in San Francisco, near my sisters."

He opened his mouth to protest and just as quickly shut it. "I understand your point. Still, they're only an orb away, right?"

She nodded. "True, but if Kurt reunites with them on a more...permanent basis, I'd have to be introduced into the equation. I'm his Whitelighter. I can't, nor will I, be separated from him."

He frowned in thought. "What about Tara? Couldn't she just pretend she was his Whitelighter? She responds to his calls."

Prue thought about that. There was a certain truth in his words.

Almost three years ago, when Kurt and the girls had entered puberty and their powers had begun to expand, Sam had arrived. While Prue was more than capable of guiding the Pentad, the Powers had agreed that another Whitelighter could only help the situation, especially since Prue now had charges outside the Coven, individuals in whom the Powers had taken great interest.

In truth, Prue saw their point. The older the Coven grew, the more they would be tested. If it came down to split-second timing, Prue never wanted to be caught in the same situation in which Leo had once found himself.

He had first saved Piper from Shax and, when he had tried to heal Prue herself, it had been too late. She had understood and held no ill-will. Piper was his wife. She _should _have been his priority.

Prue was also certain that Leo had never forgiven himself for not being able to save her. She didn't want that regret. She knew she would save Kurt before anyone else, but she loved all of the kids. She had watched them grow, had healed them over the years, had even helped raise them. As much as she loved Kurt, she didn't think she'd be able to live with the guilt if she saved him at the expense of Santana or the others. But she would learn if necessary.

So she had welcomed Tara Maclay with open arms when the Powers That Be had sent her.

It was hard not to fall a little in love with the woman. Tara was simply the kindest, gentlest, and most decent soul she had ever known. The entire Coven and their parents had embraced her.

The truth was that the Powers had wanted Prue to focus exclusively on Kurt and Santana, given how powerful they were, while Tara would be the primary Whitelighter for Quinn, Brittany, and Sam. She and Tara had discussed it and, after Tara had met the kids and gotten to know them, agreed that plan wasn't going to work. They had split the Whitelighter duties evenly, though, when in trouble or need, Kurt would always call for Prue.

The Powers That Be had also insisted, and Prue agreed, that when the worlds of the Warren Line and Slayers collided, Tara would be an invaluable resource, as she would know all the parties involved. Prue could only hope the woman's loyalties wouldn't be divided. Tara had assured her that the Coven was her first responsibility, but a lingering doubt still clouded Prue's mind.

"You don't want that," Burt softly said.

"I don't," she agreed. "I am Kurt's Whitelighter. I'm his cousin. I'm his family." She paused. "I love Tara. I trust her with my life and the lives of the children, and while I know I wouldn't be replaced..."

"You've helped mold him," Burt supplied. "You've helped to make him the amazing young man he's become." He nodded. "I agree, and you're right to feel that way." His gaze burrowed into her. "So what is this really about? Why are you afraid to be reunited with your sisters?"

She looked away. "It's been more than ten years, Burt. They're all married now. They have children. And I'm still...me. I'm the same age. I'm still unmarried. I have surrogate children, but none of my own." She chuckled. "And, to top it off, I'm now the youngest sister. I'm the same age I was when I died, and Paige is now older than me."

He blinked. "Wow."

She laughed.

"Do you think they'll resent you?"

"Wouldn't you, if you were them?" she asked archly.

"Not after you explained to me how important Kurt is," he volleyed. "Once they know _that_, once they _understand_ that, they'll understand the position into which you were all but forced."

"No one forced me," she said. "I chose this."

"Because you didn't trust anyone else to do it," he replied, holding up his hands, "and, hey, you were right. There's no way we would have gotten this far without you. You held us together after Sue died. You kept Kurt and me from drifting away from each other. You were everything we needed, Prue. We still need you. We always will.

He shrugged. "Also, it was the Elders who kept you from them. I'd be sure to remind them of that." Finally, his eyes turned cold. "And if, after all of that, they still have a problem, you send them to me. I'll take care of it."

She grinned evilly.

* * *

><p>The first thing Dean Winchester heard as he tumbled through one of the ground-level window of his brother's house was a revolver chambering a round.<p>

Caught off guard, he flipped onto his ass and scooted out of the way. "Dude, don't shoot!"

"You've broken into my house. Tell me why I shouldn't."

Dean frowned. "Who the fuck are you? This is my brother's house!"

There was an annoyed grunt followed by the overhead lights snapping to life. Dean winced and closed his eyes tightly. When he was ready to open them, he blinked rapidly, confused by the man towering over him.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded with less heat, eyes widening at the gun now in his face.

"Who I am is irrelevant," said the other man. "Why did you break into my home? If you were looking for Sam, all you had to do was ring the bell."

Dean frowned in bewilderment. "I wasn't actually sure he lived here," he said stupidly. "I went to the campus, but some blond chick answered the door at what I thought was his apartment. I asked for Sam and, after chewing me out about whatever for ten minutes, she finally gave me this address." He shook his head. "Dude, that woman was seriously scorned."

The man nodded. "Her name is Jessica. She's a nice girl, but she wasn't too thrilled when Sam dumped her for me."

Dean's mouth fell open and, for the first time, he noticed that this dude was wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs. He slowly took it all in, starting from the top. The glossy black hair looked soft and ended just above where a collar would be. Parted in the middle, there was a large, shocking streak of white that fell into his left eye.

Well, if there had _been_ a left eye.

There wasn't. There was only a patch, and Dean was fairly certain this guy wasn't playing pirate.

The face was hard but handsome. The other eye was large and round and puppyish, the iris a dark brown like baker's chocolate. Prominent cheekbones and a Greek nose gave way to a cupid's bow mouth comprised of bubblegum pink lips and a strong chin.

Not bad. Dean's gaze traveled lower.

The skin was dusky and smooth, like burnished pearwood. Decent body, not overly developed and disproportionate like those of most gym rats, but toned. Solid. The muscles had been shaped by hard work, not vanity.

Finally, there was that bulge.

Dean raised his eyes and smiled. "And who are you?"

The other man rolled his eye in reply. "Sam, tell your brother the only reason I haven't shot him yet is because we just had the floors done."

Dean heard a deep chuckle and turned to look over his shoulder, catching sight of his brother, the first in almost five years. "Sammy!"

Sam inclined his head. "I've got this, Xander. Dean, you should have called."

"I would've, but I didn't have your number," Dean shot back.

Sam arched a brow and Dean found he had _not_ missed the Eyebrow Thing. Sam had always been too good at it. That damned arched brow always made him feel stupid.

"And whose fault is that?" Sam demanded. "You were the one who went along with Dad when he said no contact. You could've emailed or written or sent a goddamn carrier pigeon, but you never did. Not once in four years. So why are you here now?"

Dean averted his eyes. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?"

Sam glowered. "Dean Winchester, meet my husband, Alexander Summers."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, a stunned Dean was still sitting on the floor, staring into space. He had heard the husband remark that the floor was where Dean belonged, like any dog.<p>

He heard the approach of two more people, of whispers and shouts, but he wasn't really paying attention.

Sam was _married_.

To a _man_.

Sam had married a man.

All Dean could feel was pissed off that he hadn't even been invited. Sure, he and Sam hadn't been in touch, but they were _brothers_. That was supposed to count for something. That was supposed to be...everything.

But then he realized that he wasn't Sam's everything anymore. This Xander guy was.

What the fuck kind of name was _Xander?_

Stupid. That's what it was.

Xander was stupid and Sam was stupid and Dean was...really fucking stupid.

He should have written. Called. Stalked. _Something_.

How could he have let almost five years go by without talking to his brother? Sam had been like oxygen to him. Sure, he had believed that Sam would be all right at Stanford, safe, which was all he wanted for him. He supposed he hadn't really thought about what would happen after graduation.

Sam would have never come back to Lawrence.

Sam wouldn't travel the country with him and Dad, following and killing spooky shit.

Sam...had gone out into the fucking world, made something of himself, and found a life.

With another guy.

A good-looking guy. One who was probably at least a good five years older than Sam. A guy who had lost an eye and whose hair was already turning white. A guy whose toned chest looked like it had been clawed by Freddy Krueger.

Christ, what the fuck had done that_?_

There were other scars, old ones and some not so old. Whoever this Xander was, he was either a gangbanger or...a hunter.

Dean narrowed his eyes. This suddenly made a lot more sense.

Sam had married their father. Well, a younger version. So Freudian. So typical. So Sam.

Dean felt a set of curious eyes upon him. He blinked, shook himself from his stupor, and turned to stare at his admirer.

Admirers.

These kids were creepy, like _Children of the Corn_ creepy. _The Shining _creepy. They looked like _Xander_, with the cheekbones and chins, but they had startling blue eyes.

"My sister and brother, Dawn and Connor," answered _Sam's husband_.

Dawn smirked, but Connor merely kept staring. Dean wondered what the hell the kid saw that was so damn fascinating. Sure, Dean knew he was hot; hell, everyone knew that. But the boy was really starting to creep him the fuck out.

And that's when Dean decided he'd had enough. It was time for him to take control of this situation. He scrambled to his feet and glared.

Xander just smiled. "I'm Xander Summers, and these are my twin siblings, Dawn and Connor. We're from Sunnydale, a town in Southern California, which, thankfully, no longer exists."

Dawn beamed. "It fell into a sinkhole we helped create because we're awesome."

Dean cocked his head and stared.

"Sam and I have been married for almost a year, after dating for two," Xander continued. "I'm thirty years old, I own and operate a construction company, and am reasonably well off. Dawn and Connor attend Stanford; Dawn is studying Archeology and Classical Languages, while Connor's majors are Physics and Chemistry. Our mother died right before the twins were due to start college, so after Sunnydale was destroyed, I moved all of us here to Palo Alto. We have another sister, Buffy, who runs a private school in Cleveland for exceptionally gifted girls."

Dean slowly turned to face him.

Xander's eye darkened. "I love your brother. He's my life. I will kill anything that makes him frown, including you. So choose your next words very wisely."

Dean realized the man still held the gun in his hand. Dawn was obviously hoping for violence, while Connor sat rigidly on the sofa and observed events with rapt attention.

"I didn't know you were gay," Dean blurted at Sam. His nose scrunched up. "I feel like I should have known that, but I never even suspected."

"I'm not gay," Sam said evenly. "I'm bisexual." He made jazz hands. "Surprise! We really exist."

"So it's not just fucking," Dean said. "I could understand fucking. I've fucked guys. But marriage? Really? Sam, you're only twenty-two years old."

"I know the arguments, Dean," Sam said quietly. "Xander made all of them for you three years ago." He shrugged. "He's it for me. I only want him."

"He robbed your cradle," Dean barked.

Sam shook his head. "I gave myself to him and he gave me a life. He didn't take anything, not from me and not from you."

Dean narrowed his eyes in an attempt to blink back tears without appearing to do so.

"I'm still your brother, Dean. I still look up to you. I still love you." He took Xander's hand. "This is my husband." He nodded at Connor and Dawn. "They're my family. So are you. I hope you can be happy for me, I really do, but if you can't, that's okay. I'll still love you, I just won't be able to see you."

Dean reeled back as if struck. He wanted to say a lot of things - scream them, actually - but he realized he didn't really have a leg to stand on. He had loved and missed his brother these past four years, but he had also utterly ignored Sam. He had essentially abandoned his brother just as their father had, so who the fuck was he to piss and moan now because Sam had created a new family for himself?

And a pretty fucking deadly family it was. Xander still had his gun, but now Dean noticed that Dawn had a stake nestled in her waistband and Conner had a dagger strapped to his ankle.

What the fuck kind of family was this, and could he be a part of it?

He sighed. "Sammy..._Sam_, if you're happy, it's cool. I don't care that you married a dude, because at least he's hot. I can only hope for your sake that he has a big one. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Dawn howled with laughter as Sam flushed beet red. Connor continued to stare and Xander merely raised a brow.

"Fucking eyebrows," Dean muttered.

Once Sam was past the point where he wasn't going to faint from mortification, he crossed the room toward his brother and hugged him. It took a moment, but Dean hugged him back. Hard.

"I really, really missed you," Sam whispered into his brother's ears.

Dean heard the tears in Sam's voice, the ones he had put there, and he felt like an asshole. "I missed you, too."

"So why _are_ you here?" Dawn chirped.

Dean pulled back and stared into Sam's eyes. "Dad's missing."

* * *

><p>Piper Halliwell was rooting through the mail, surprised by the large amount she had received. Sure, the house was once again overflowing with occupants, but the children were <em>children<em> and Leo was legally dead, so what was the deal?

Groaning when she realized most of it was bills or mail for her sisters - who, for some reason, despite not having lived in the Manor for years still provided its address as their own - she tossed it on the table in the entryway. She glared daggers at the one piece which had escaped and fell to the floor before bending over to pick it up.

She noted the postmark and her eyes widened to the size of salad plates. She ripped open the envelope and began furiously reading.

"He's coming," she whispered. "He's actually going to come."

She closed her eyes and thought about her younger sister. "_Phoebe,_" she whispered.

A moment later, Phoebe beamed in, dangerously close to Piper, who almost fell over. After that nonsense with Billie and her idiot sister, the Charmed Ones had decided they needed to be able to get to each other at a moment's notice. Phoebe's husband, Coop, had fashioned her a ring similar to his own, which allowed her not only to teleport, but also to time travel in dire straits. Paige, of course, could orb. Piper had learned astral projection. It wasn't second-nature for her as it had been for Prue, but in emergencies, it worked.

Paige just as suddenly appeared. "I felt you thinking about Phoebe," she said in a rush, looking anxiously around. "Is everything okay?"

Their bond had only deepened over the years, especially once Paige and Phoebe began having their children. It hardly took anything for them to summon one another, not even a spell.

"Yeah, it's fine," Piper said thickly. She turned and pushed the envelope into Phoebe's hand. "He's coming."

"Who's coming?" Paige asked. "Also, ew."

Piper rolled her eyes.

Phoebe looked just as confused. "Who..." Then realization dawned. "Really?" she whispered.

Piper nodded and Phoebe pored over every word.

Paige put her hands on her hips and glared. "Well? Who's this mysterious guest? I hope they're planning to stay here, because there's _no_ room at my inn."

Phoebe wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "Kurt is coming to Piper and Leo's party."

Paige stared. "Kurt? _The_ Kurt? The kid I've heard about constantly these past ten years? The cousin I've never met? _That_ Kurt?"

"He would be the one," Piper agreed.

"Sweet!"

Phoebe and Piper each winced before averting their eyes.

Paige narrowed hers in response. "What?"

"Well," Phoebe began, "he doesn't exactly know about you, that we have another sister."

Paige's surprise quickly turned to hurt and anger.

"It's not that we ever had any intention of denying you, Paige," Piper said calmly, "but, as ridiculous as it sounds, the truth of the matter is that it never came up. You know that contact with Kurt has been fleeting."

Paige chewed on her lip before at last nodding. That _was_ true. Piper and Phoebe had often bemoaned that Kurt's father wouldn't allow him to visit. Paige had been filled in on the backstory as to why. She couldn't blame the dude but, still, Kurt was family.

"There's more to it," she insisted.

Her sisters exchanged a glance and Paige knew she was right.

"He was so close to Prue," Phoebe whispered, closing her eyes. She sighed. "That one time he visited...Paige, he was like her own child. I've never seen Prue react to and interact with anyone the way she did with Kurt. He absolutely adored her and she him. When she died..."

"He was devastated," Piper finished. "Prue died the day before his own mother did, so in the space of twenty-four hours, he lost two of the most important people in his life."

Paige was still hurt, but she now better understood the situation. "That sucks. How old was he?" she asked softly.

Phoebe swallowed heavily. "Six. The same age Prue was when we lost Mom."

Paige blew out a breath. "That's just plain eerie."

"He was so much like her," Piper said, more to herself than her sisters. "He was so much like Prue. Scary smart, cold, aloof, but family was the most important thing to him, even then." She smiled sadly. "He even has her eyes."

"After the...incident," Phoebe continued, "Burt and Suzanne refused to return to San Francisco, and though it hurt, we understood. Kurt was all but a baby, and those fucking _demons_ tried to kill him!"

Piper laid a hand on her sister's shoulder. "We don't know if that's what happened."

Phoebe scoffed. "Well, something did. None of us can remember the events of that day, but Suzanne and Burt were adamant. No return visits. Something happened to Kurt, Piper, no matter what they said. He was put in danger, and he was only in that danger because of us."

Piper set her jaw and looked away.

"And then Suzanne died and we couldn't go because Prue had just died and we weren't able to mourn for either of them the way we needed, the way they deserved." Phoebe sighed. "Then there was Cole and the Elders and all the rest of it. The only bright spot was finding you, Paige."

Paige smiled self-consciously.

"It's not that he won't love you, Paige," Piper said. "He will, absolutely, and he'll likely be pissed off that we didn't tell him about you." She sighed. "After Prue died, contact just sort of...fell away. Kurt was mourning Suzanne and trying to adjust to not having a mother. Burt was mourning his wife. And then life happened. People drift away from each other much easier than most realize."

Paige nodded. She had drifted away from most of her friends after finding her sisters. She knew also that Piper and Phoebe's worlds were similarly insular. Family was everything. Friends were great, but it was hard to explain why you could never show up to parties or baptisms or anniversaries. Why you had to leave in the middle of dinner. Why you had so many _family emergencies_. Feelings were hurt. Fences were mended but never truly fixed.

"But he's coming now, right?" she asked. "That's a good thing."

"It is," Piper said slowly, nodding her head. "I just wonder if his father knows about his plans. I wouldn't put it past Kurt to buy his own plane ticket and just show up on our doorstep."

Phoebe shrugged. "He's almost seventeen now, Piper. You remember me at that age. You remember _Prue_ at that age."

Piper winced.

"Yeah, ditto for me," Paige said airily. "Not my best moments. So when does he arrive?"

"I don't know," Piper said. "It doesn't say. He just checked off the box that said he would be attending."

"The party's only two weeks away," Phoebe noted. "That gives me some lead time to plan how to spoil him rotten. We've got a decade to make up for, after all."


	7. Ariadne's Threads

"Do you think Dean suspects anything?"

Xander nuzzled his husband's neck. "No. Even if he did, so what?"

Sam whimpered and adjusted his head to give Xander better access. "You don't know him like I do, Xander. If he has even an inkling that things are weird, he won't rest until he uncovers whatever he thinks we're trying to hide."

Xander trailed kisses up Sam's jaw. "And what are we hiding, really?" He nibbled on a delectable ear.

_Jesus_, Sam always tasted so damn good. He really needed to find a way in which he could keep his tongue on some part of Sam's anatomy at all times.

Whoa. New research project.

Sam gawped and pushed Xander away. "Seriously? How about the fact that you are ... who you are? Or that Connor and Dawn aren't your brother and sister but a child of prophecy and the skeleton key to the entire universe?" He scoffed. "Or what about your faux sister Buffy and what _she_ really is, what that school is really about?"

Xander's gaze was patient and understanding, and it just pissed Sam off.

"What's really going on here, baby?" Xander quietly asked. "Is it that you don't trust your brother or that you don't trust me?"

Sam frowned in confusion. "I trust both of you with my life. Why would you think I didn't?"

Xander stroked Sam's shoulder. "You've always told me that you were the cerebral hunter while Dean was the instinctual one, right?"

Sam nodded.

"Okay," Xander continued, "so do you really think the truth is so far out of the realm of possibility that Dean wouldn't believe it? If anything, I think it would answer a lot of questions he must have." He paused and waded through Sam's answering, knowing silence. "Do you think he'd abandon you?"

"Of course not."

"Do you think I would?"

Sam flinched and looked away. "Dean can be difficult. He can _make_ things difficult. He tries so hard to protect me because that was the last thing Mom asked him to do. He takes that seriously." He reached over and cupped Xander's face in his hands. "What if he decides he needs to protect me from you?"

Xander pushed himself up, leaned over and straddled his husband, their noses touching. "I love you," he whispered. "I've waited my whole _life_ for you. Nothing is going to take you away from me. Nothing could ever turn me away from you. You're my everything, Sam, and while I respect the fact that Dean is your brother, if he tries to interfere with our marriage, lines will be drawn and I will be the one to draw them."

"And what if, one day, you just decide I'm not worth all that trouble?" asked a bitter Sam.

"Hey!" Xander exclaimed, taking Sam's chin in his hand and forcing his husband to look him in the eye. "What part of _you're my everything_ was unclear? Sam, I will always fight for you. _Always_. I'm never going to leave. If our marriage should ever end, that will be your decision, not mine."

Sam's eyes searched his for several long moments. "You really mean that," he murmured.

"I will love you until the second I die and then beyond. I will fight everyone and everything for you. I will always find you if we lose each other." Xander smiled. "So are we good, or do I need to sing a cheesy eighties power ballad to appease you?"

Sam rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around Xander's neck. "It's not so much that I'm afraid of losing you but of losing what we've built. I love our life. I love our house." He dropped his eyes. "I don't want things to change. I mean, I know they're going to, you've always told me they would, but I didn't think it would be this soon. I thought we'd have more time."

Xander stroked Sam's hair. "Time for what, baby?"

"To be together. To be married. To enjoy our family." Sam sighed. "What about the kids? I don't want to lose them. What if Buffy and Angel decide to take them back?"

Xander's eye darkened. "Dawn and Connor are their own people. They're old enough to decide what they want and with whom they want to live. If they wanted to be back with Buffy and Angel, they would be. Until they tell me they want to leave, nothing is going to take them from us." He grinned. "Also, since you're only two years older than them, it's weird to hear you call them _kids_."

Sam squirmed. "But that's how I think of them."

"How?" Xander asked. He observed Sam closely for a moment. "You think of them as our children?" he whispered.

Sam bit his lip and nodded.

"You...you want to have children? With me?"

Sam nodded again. "I do, and we already have them."

Xander pulled away. "You can't tell her."

"She has the right to know," Sam shot back.

Xander shook his head. "Not now. Not until I explain everything to Buffy."

Sam growled. "_Fuck_ Buffy! This has nothing to do with her!"

Christ, Sam hated her. She had done nothing but interfere in his relationship with Xander from the very beginning, casting doubts in Xander's mind, questioning Sam's powers, obliquely asking if Dawn was safe in Sam's company. The last fight Buffy and Xander had about him had been epic and everyone had chosen sides. Dawn, Willow, and Faith had come down squarely on Xander's side while it was only Spike who stood with Buffy. Angel had refused to take a side, as had Giles.

Xander would no longer speak with Buffy, who blamed Sam entirely. Xander's relationship with Giles had fallen apart but, according to Xander, that had been a long time coming. Xander knew Giles loved him but Giles had never supported him when it truly mattered. In the end, he always deferred to Buffy.

The results were still being felt. Those Slayers who knew Xander - namely Vi, Rona, Kennedy, Chao-Ahn, and Shannon - and had never liked Buffy followed Faith's example and sided with Xander. They refused to work with or report to Buffy, and while Faith was proud of them for sticking to their guns, she wasn't thrilled that it had more than tripled her own workload.

Then there were the Slayers unearthed by Xander during his time in Africa. As far as they were concerned, he was their true Watcher, regardless that they were later assigned to others. They viewed Giles as little more than a figurehead and while they complied with his directives, they did so on their own terms. Buffy had learned the hard way to steer very clear of them.

Finally, there was Nysa Dicoupoulos, the final Slayer Xander had discovered. The child of Greek foreign diplomats, she had been born and raised in Namibia and was regarded by the Council as Xander's sole protege. She was fiercely devoted to him and had refused on numerous occasions to ally herself with the Council. She viewed Buffy and Giles as interlopers and resented their attempts to remove her forcibly from Xander's side. Said attempts had never worked and only made Nysa despise them all the more.

Xander was equally as devoted to her and their connection was something to behold. Sam had studied closely the relationship between Giles and Buffy; based on his observations, he had believed he had understood it. He was wrong.

All of the Awakened Slayers had, by whatever unknown power, been imbued with memories of the Sunnydale Hellmouth and the key points which had occurred in those seven years. They were Awakened knowing who Xander, Buffy, Willow, Giles, Cordelia, Oz, Joyce, Kendra, Angel, Spike, Faith, Dawn, Anya, and Tara were. Xander often rued that he hadn't done more, hadn't _been _more, while in Sunnydale, but the new Slayers had a very different view.

He had single-handedly stopped the Hellmouth from being blown open by zombies.

He had stopped Willow from ending the world with nothing more than his love for her.

Xander had brought Buffy back to life. Twice. He was her Heart.

He was _their_ Heart.

He _was_ the Heart of the Slayer. He had twinned the Line. He was the reason Kendra had been Called, and then Faith, the last Chosen Slayer. He was now as intertwined with the Line as the Primitive was, and the Slayers reacted to him accordingly.

That time when the Primitive and Xander had come face-to-face had been stultifying. It was at that moment that Sam truly began to appreciate not only who Xander was, but _what_ he was and what would be expected of him.

Nysa viewed Xander as her savior, as the person who had delivered her to her destiny, who drove her to heights she had never dared believed herself capable. He was her big brother, her crazy uncle, and a surrogate father all rolled into one, but the core of their relationship was very much that between Watcher and Slayer. As far she was concerned, Xander was the only to whom she owed any allegiance and she would surrender her life to protect him.

Those feelings had also been transferred to Xander's makeshift family. She loved Sam, Connor, and Dawn with her entire heart and they loved her in return. Connor and Dawn, though presented as twins for the sake of their cover, were close but felt no real fraternal feelings for one another; however, both viewed Nysa as a sister.

As for Xander, Nysa had been elevated into the rarefied upper echelons of his heart, those places where only Willow, Anya, Cordelia, Prue, Dawn, and Sam himself resided.

Xander's heart was something of a marvel to Sam. It was so huge, so vast, and Xander held within it a place for everyone he had ever met, encountered, loved, and lost, as well as the entire world. It never ceased to amaze Sam that a heart could be so strong after the many times it had been broken.

Xander loved so hard and so much and so purely that sometimes Sam wondered if that was what had caused the heart attack. Xander's love for him, Cordelia, Anya, Prue, Nysa, the other Scoobies, Giles ... even the vampires ... was incredible to behold. Despite what Xander thought or said, he loved Dawn as his daughter. He loved Connor as a son, though Sam was aware that Connor's love for Xander wasn't quite so innocent.

And then there was ... but that was just bizarre. He would _never_ understand Xander's loyalty to that creature or why he insisted its presence was a _good _thing.

Granted, Illyria was strangely fascinated by and affectionate with Xander. Must have been the demon magnet thing.

Sam shook his head to clear it, though his anger was surging. He did his best to tamp it down. There was nothing Xander hated more than fighting with someone he loved. He just couldn't bear it.

"Sure, those stupid monks borrowed some Slayer essence which they imbued within Dawn," he continued, "but they didn't create her out of thin air. And who's to say that essence was taken from Buffy alone? What about Faith? What if it was taken from the entire Line? The fact is that Dawn is made of flesh and blood, Xander. _Your_ blood. She's your daughter!"

"I know that," Xander hissed. "I know, I know, I know! But she's _not_, Sam. _Joyce_ was her mother. Buffy _is_ her sister. I'm...I'm just a donor, and an unwilling one at that. I never knew what those monks did. I never okayed it. What do I say when Dawn asks me how I feel about the fact that my DNA was stolen and used to create a child? What do I say when she asks me if I think of her as my daughter when I'm not even sure I do? What if she asks when I found out, how long I've known, why I told you and not her? What if she asks me who her mother, her biological mother, was?"

"You tell her the truth," Sam promptly replied. "I've heard the stories about what she was like as a teenager, but Dawn's not that little girl anymore, Xander. She's a grown woman. She's smart, she's accomplished, and she's not anyone's victim. Why do you underestimate her?"

Xander cocked a brow. "Why do you underestimate Dean?"

Sam raised a brow in kind. "Touché," he said, after a moment.

Xander leaned forward and touched his forehead to Sam's own. "That was a nice diversion, but I know you and you're afraid of something more than how our family will react to certain details we've kept from them. Tell me what it is."

"What if you have another heart attack?" Sam whispered.

"You're not going to get rid of me that easily."

"Don't joke. Not about that. I've never been more terrified in my life." Sam gritted his teeth. "You were _dead_, Xander. Your heart stopped. You had no pulse. And those people, your _friends_, the way they tried to push me aside..."

"And you didn't let them," Xander interrupted. "Never have I been so proud of someone. You pushed back, you did what you knew I'd want, and you told them to take their guilt and shove it. You were magnificent."

Against his will, Sam blushed. "I couldn't go through that again," he whispered. "I still have nightmares about it." He sighed. Even the _thought_ of losing Xander was pure agony. "All I want is some peace."

Xander was silent for a long moment. "We're not in this life for peace, Sam," he said roughly. "None of us is. Not Slayer or hunter or witch or mortal." He paused. "I can't guarantee I won't have another heart attack any more than I can guarantee I won't be hit by a car tomorrow morning when I go out to the curb to get the newspaper. _Life_ is risk, Sam. Getting out of bed every morning is a risk but what's the alternative? Living in a bubble?"

"Would that really be so bad?"

"Our love was a risk," Xander countered, "one which almost everyone we know told us wasn't worth taking. They were wrong. You leaving home to go to Stanford was a risk, but we wouldn't be here if you hadn't. For every risk, there's a reward. You just have to look for it. You have to fight for it."

"I'm so tired of fighting," Sam murmured. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, I'm exhausted," Xander cheerfully said. "You don't know how many times I've come close to giving up the ghost entirely." His eye turned distant. "I've lost so much of my family, Sam. I watched Buffy die twice. Jesse. Kendra. Joyce. Tara." He closed his eye, pain marring his face. "Anya," he whispered. His breath hitched. "Cordelia," he rasped.

And that's when Sam knew he had to back off, because nothing ever good happened when Xander remembered Cordelia. The subject of Anya was almost as painful, but not quite. Cordelia occupied a strange place in Xander's heart, one of extremes. They had hated and loved each other their entire lives.

Cordelia lived within him, even now. Especially now.

He and Xander hadn't been dating very long when Cordelia died. The scales over Sam's eyes had fallen at Xander's reaction.

Pain, such horrific and absolute _pain_.

It was as though part of Xander had died with her. His mourning was acute and graphic and terrifying. His anger, his rage, his guilt and sorrow: they had been raw, visceral things. They still were.

It had all been happenstance. He and Xander had gone to Disneyland on a lark and, after, Xander had decided to pop in on his childhood nemesis cum favorite ex-girlfriend. After visiting a bombed-out hotel, he had finally traced Cordelia to Wolfram & Hart.

He had been stunned as all hell that she would ever have set foot in that place. In fact, he had argued adamantly against it, saying she must have been coerced. In a manner of speaking, that was true.

He had stormed the law firm, ignored the screeching female vampire who had tried to hug him and pull his hair, and kicked down the door to Angel's office, demanding to see Cordelia.

Angel had stood and looked at him and Xander _knew_.

He had bellowed for Willow, who had appeared almost immediately, with Buffy and Giles in tow. After Sunnydale had fallen and though they had traveled down their separate paths, in a very fundamental way the Core Four was stronger than ever. They might have their fights and silences, hold their grudges, but when push came to shove, it had always been the four of them and always would be.

As Xander roared at Angel for failing to protect Cordelia, as Willow and Buffy screamed at the others for not even having the common decency to pick up a phone to let them know the woman had died, as Spike had rolled his eyes and Fred had sobbed, Sam's world had fallen apart in the space of five seconds.

Xander had suddenly turned white and then gray, before clutching his chest and falling over.

Willow had tried spells, not knowing - and she still didn't - that, after Kingman's Bluff, magic had no effect on Xander.

Buffy had been lost in memories, too afraid to try CPR, terrified she would injure him further, bleating that she couldn't lose him, not now and not ever.

Spike had wanted to make Xander a vampire and it was only after Fred held a stake to his throat that he gave up that idea. Buffy hadn't even registered that Spike was in the room. She didn't realize he was alive until months later.

Angel had merely stood there, silent, stalwart, and hopeless as he watched the only other person who had loved Cordelia as much he had die before him.

And then Sam had pushed them all out of the way and started chest compressions.

Xander had lived.

"It's coming," he whispered. "Whatever's out there. The First. The Devil. Whatever else there is. It's out there and it's coming for us."

Xander nodded. "It always has been, Sam," he said gently, "and do you know why? Because we're the only ones looking."

"So what do we do?"

"Try to live. Keep loving each other and our family. We do the best we can with the information and resources that we have. That's all we _can_ do, Sam. That's all _anyone_ can do."

"Prue..."

"Prue won't always be able to save me. I'm not immortal, Sam, and I don't want to be. There's a purpose to this life of mine and I have every intention of seeing it through to the final pages, but not everything is in my control. Death comes for all of us eventually. Humans, demons, witches, spirits. It can be interrupted, it can be delayed, but it can't be ignored forever."

"She's in love with you, you know," Sam said, somewhat savagely.

"I know. My days of feigned ignorance are long over." Xander shrugged. "And who knows? If I hadn't met you, I'd probably be with Prue now, but I _am_ with you. I'm committed to _you_. Prue knows that, she accepts that, and she loves you, too, just as I know you love her."

Sam sighed. It was true; Prue was, in fact, his best friend. "I was stupid to think I could run from this."

"Not true," Xander said. "You could still run. If you wanted to, I would go with you."

"You would?"

"I'd do anything for you. I'd give up everything for you."

Sam shook his head. "I would never ask that of you."

Xander smiled. "I know. That's why you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You've never tried to change me, Sam. You've never tried to make me better than what I am. You've never put me down in a pathetic attempt to motivate me.

"You just...love me." He shook his head in awe before a beam overtook his face. "No one has ever loved me so purely, so completely, as you have. No one. And though I'll always hold Cordelia and Anya in my heart, that heart belongs to you."

"I'm glad you had them," Sam said softly. "Loving them is what allowed you to love me."

Xander gently caressed Sam's face. "Loving you is a privilege I probably don't deserve, but I give thanks every day to whatever's out there that might be listening, because life without you wouldn't be worth living.

"Don't worry so much, Sam. Just know that, whatever happens, we'll always be together."

"You really believe that?" Sam asked.

"I do. And I like it so much, I even put a ring on it."

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to throw Xander from him, only to snorfle when Xander instead snuggled down deep.

"But right now," Xander whispered, "there's something I need. Something only you can give me."

Sam's heart started thudding. "What?"

Xander leaned down, lips pressed against Sam's ear and curving into a smile. "You inside me."

* * *

><p>Dean frowned and looked down the hall. "That a regular occurrence?" he asked the kids.<p>

Connor stared at him. In fact, all Connor had done since first meeting Dean was stare.

Dawn nodded. "About twice a day."

Dean's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Twice a day?" He shook his head. "Damn."

She shrugged. "When you're as hot as they are, you shouldn't have to go without. So they don't."

Dean frowned. "You think your brother's hot?"

"Are you saying he's not?" she growled.

Dean decided he wanted no part of this. He turned to Connor.

"Dude, stop staring. I'm not an oil painting."

Connor said nothing as he continued not to blink.

Dean heaved a tremendous sigh. "What's with your brother here?" he demanded of Dawn.

"He's assessing you," she said simply.

"Assessing?"

"He's determining what, if any, threat you pose to Xander and, by extension, his marriage."

The _duh_ went unvoiced but was evident in her tone.

"And what if I am a threat?" asked an amused Dean.

"I'll kill you," Connor said, voice steady.

A shocked Dean slowly turned to look at the boy.

He had no doubt Connor meant it.

* * *

><p>"What will you do if they say no?" Quinn asked.<p>

Kurt shrugged. "Go anyway. I've had about enough of this. They're my family and I have a right to know them. I'm not three years old anymore. I can take care of myself."

Santana glared. "You _do_ understand that you won't be going alone?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"And what are you going to do about _that?_" she demanded, nodding her head toward the table across from theirs.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Sam's allowed to have his own friends." He paused. "Even if they're just using him." He shrugged. "Besides, do you really think Sam doesn't know that? He's not dumb. He's playing them too."

Santana glowered at Finn and Mercedes, a couple that made no logical sense,but had been going strong for over a year now. They had tried, both individually and together, to infiltrate the Coven's circle for almost ten years.

The Coven had been a unit since that summer before first grade, inseparable and impenetrable. They had never meant to exclude anyone or cause hurt feelings, but the simple truth was that, with few exceptions, they neither required nor longed to add to their company. They had been complete as they were and would remain as such until their Fifth appeared.

But others had tried to approach, to steal a member away, to start an unnecessary rivalry.

Mercedes wanted Kurt. She didn't understand what he saw in Quinn and especially in Santana. She liked Brittany because everyone liked Brittany. She insisted she and Kurt had so much in common that they should be best friends, but everything they shared was superficial. Kurt was perfectly content to call her a friend but Mercedes wanted to be the only girl in his life.

Finn wanted Quinn back. They had been elementary school sweethearts until sixth grade when Finn demanded that Quinn make a choice. She did and he had no one but himself to blame, except he had blamed Kurt and Santana. He'd always been jealous of Kurt, who was admittedly more intelligent, and thought Santana was nothing but a bitch. Santana had happily agreed with both points, which had only angered Finn all the more.

And then there was...

"Hey, Duchess," Puck said, dropping into the open seat next to Kurt and slinging his arm around the other boy's shoulder.

Kurt turned and beamed. "Good afternoon, Noah. You look particularly Neanderthal today."

Puck's chest puffed with pride. A fresh mohawk, some ratty jeans, and a sleeveless tee meant that he was extra styling. He leaned over and kissed Kurt's cheek, smirking at the catcalls and grunting that erupted.

"I still think we should try dating, just to see what everyone would do," he whispered in Kurt's ear.

Kurt rolled his eyes and pushed Puck away. "Oh, Noah, your need both to titillate and repel our peers is almost endearing, but I have no interest. I'm quite happy with my boyfriend, thank you."

Puck kept the smile on his face, though his eyes dimmed just a bit. He wasn't gay. He wasn't even bi. But there was a part of him that was in love with Kurt and always would be.

He knew his feelings were mixed up with fraternal love and hero worship, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to separate the threads of his feelings for Kurt.

Santana watched him from the corner of her eye.

Puck was...interesting. His relationship with Kurt even more so, especially since Puck was the only mortal who knew they were witches.

* * *

><p>It had started not long after Aunt Suzanne had died. That summer, they had been inseparable. Not only the children, but their parents and guardians. Burt had grown very close to both Robert and Patrick, while Prue had fit in seamlessly with the other women. It was as though it had been predetermined, and perhaps it was. Perhaps it was the universe's way of acknowledging what was to come, allowing the children some measure of a childhood.<p>

Then they had started first grade and their social circle had begun to expand in the form of acquaintances. Puck had already been singled out as the bad seed by their teacher and the majority of the class, but he hadn't cared. Neither had the Coven. They never interacted, but neither did they antagonize each other.

Kurt had become friends with Mike Chang that first day, and, after school, went home and told his father that he had just met the boy he would one day marry. Burt had laughed and patted Kurt on the head, but that laughter abruptly ceased when he realized Kurt wasn't joking. So he had smiled and told Kurt he wanted to meet his new friend, and then went racing to Prue to talk him down off the ledge.

She had reiterated Suzanne's arguments. Yes, Kurt was a boy. Yes, Kurt liked boys. Yes, other boys would like Kurt. Yes, Kurt would one day date a boy. Yes, Kurt would have sex with boys. Yes, Kurt would marry a boy.

Amused as she watched Burt breathe with the aid of a paper bag, she asked him why he was so honestly surprised. Burt had spewed forth logical arguments that Kurt was too young, didn't realize what marriage truly _was_, etc. Prue had calmed him down and reminded him they knew nothing about Mike Chang. Just because Kurt liked him in that way, didn't mean Mike felt the same. Then Burt grew hysterical at the thought of some little bastard breaking his precious son's heart.

Prue had merely grabbed a phone book, placed a call, and three hours later, the Chang family was sitting in the Hummel dining room enjoying a lovely meal. After, Kurt and Mike went off to play while Mary Chang helped Prue make coffee in the kitchen.

"My son came home from school today and told me he met a boy whom he now loves," Mary had said with no preamble.

Prue had regarded her with assessing eyes. "And what do you think about that?"

Mary had been silent for a long moment. "Michael was a gift," she had finally said. "I had been told I would never be able to conceive a child, let alone carry one to term. There was scar tissue. I had waited too long. George's sperm count was too low. We had given up hope and accepted this, for we had tried everything up to and including five rounds of in-vitro fertilization. Nothing."

She had begun opening cupboards, searching for mugs. "And then a miracle happened. I was pregnant. The pregnancy was an easy one. In fact, I didn't even realize I _was_ pregnant until almost the fifth month. In a way, that was a blessing, because it prevented me from panicking, and endlessly wondering, and anticipating something awful. But everything was fine."

She had turned back to face Prue. "I had a child. More than that, I had a _son_. There is nothing like a mother's bond with her son." She had looked away. "A mother knows."

Prue had said nothing, had done nothing.

"I want his happiness," Mary had whispered. "That's all I want for him, because that's what he's given me."

* * *

><p>And Mike <em>was<em> happy. He was happy with Kurt. Ten years later, he still was.

The fact that they were both witches was just gravy.

"Hey," Mike said quietly, slipping into the seat on Kurt's opposite side. He nodded at Puck, though warily. Puck grunted in reply.

"Hello," Kurt softly said, a gentle blush settling high upon his cheeks, as it always did when he was reunited with Mike, even after only a brief separation. "How was your Spanish class?"

Mike made a face. "Mr. Schuester is getting more and more paranoid about Coach Sylvester. Today's vocabulary lesson was about dictators and oppressive regimes." He shook his head. "How was Calculus?"

Kurt shrugged. "I got an A on the exam, but Brittany beat me and Artie. Again."

Mike smiled as Brittany's delighted giggle traveled down the table. His eyes then widened when he felt Kurt's hand on his knee, slowly rising up his leg.

"Don't tease," he whispered.

Kurt's blush turned fierce as he snatched his hand away. "I'm sorry."

"No, no," Mike rushed to say. "I _want_ you to touch me. I want you touch me all the time!" He exhaled. "It's just that, when you do, I get, um ... "

Kurt dropped his head, a small smile on his face.

" ... and lunch will be over soon and I'll have to _stand up_," Mike babbled.

"I love you," Kurt interrupted.

Mike shut up as his eyes softened. "I love you, too."

"Fuckin' homos!" shouted Karofsky from across the cafeteria.

Kurt narrowed his eyes and suddenly the tray in Karofsky's hand went flying up toward his face. As everyone laughed at Karofsky, who now had mashed potatoes dripping from his cheeks, an eyeful of mashed carrots, and Sue Sylvester screaming in his ear, Quinn clucked her tongue.

"Personal gain," she hissed.

Kurt turned and regarded her with flat eyes. "It was worth it. Some animals only respond to negative reinforcement."

Her lips twitched and she nodded, smiling when Puck and Santana howled with laughter.

"Good one," Mike whispered, his lips on Kurt's ear. "You're dead sexy when you're being all Witchy Poo."

Kurt turned bright red.

Mike was amused that simple compliments affected Kurt so much, which was why he complimented his boyfriend as often as possible. Besides, it was the truth. Kurt _was_ dead sexy.

Puck suddenly sat up straight and fluffed up his hair.

"The demon approacheth," Santana grunted.

Puck turned and glared. "Knock it off, bitch. Tina's only half-demon and she's awesome. By the way, set any sheds on fire lately?"

She sneered and flipped him off. Part of her really enjoyed the fact that Puck had absolutely no fear of her. He couldn't have cared less that she was one of the most powerful witches in the hemisphere. Then there was the other part of her that really hated him for that.

Regardless, he was right about one thing: Tina was pretty awesome, half-demon or no.

* * *

><p>Puck, the boy who once had smelled like puppies, had been brought into their circle one rainy November afternoon. School had just ended for the day and all of the students had raced outside, donning their raincoats and opening their umbrellas, chattering about the upcoming weekend and the holiday break only two weeks away.<p>

Kurt and Brittany had been talking about some book they had read while Quinn and Santana had been engaged in the endless *NSYNC versus the Backstreet Boys discussion. Puck had been just behind them, rolling his eyes and wanting to get home. He had forgotten his coat that morning. He pushed past them.

Little Grace Puckerman, only two, had been delighted when she looked up and laid eyes on her brother, her hero, and her only solace since their daddy had gone away. She looked up at her mother, who was talking with some other lady, and let go of her hand. Then she had toddled out into the street.

"Noah! Noah!"

Puck had looked up and grinned, but then everything turned into slow motion and there was a car and a scream and a squealing of tires...

And Kurt, without thinking, had raised his hand, levitating Grace with it. After the car had skidded and hit the curb, the hysterically sobbing driver had fallen out of her vehicle and been stunned to find the little girl she had almost hit standing in the middle of the road, perfectly fine.

It had all happened so fast, there had been so many people and so much commotion, that, thankfully, no one had seen what Kurt had done.

Except for Puck.

Puck had stared at Kurt in utter fascination. He hadn't known how, he hadn't known why, but he had been positively certain that this little boy, the one who was so much smaller than everyone except maybe Satan, the one that other kids whispered about and teachers fawned over, had saved his sister. His little sister, whom he loved more than life itself.

Santana had watched Puck watching Kurt and she had known even then that Kurt had just inadvertently collected a second shadow.

And that's what Puck became. He wanted to be everywhere Kurt was. If anyone said anything mean about Kurt, Puck clocked them without a second thought. Kurt had always said the gossip didn't bother him, but Puck knew that was a lie, that his friend had been hurt, and if he was in a position to hurt those who had hurt his friend, then he would take it.

Judy Fabray, who had been chatting with Gloria Puckerman that day, had known that damage control was necessary. She had made a great show of fawning over Gloria and Grace, insisting on driving them home. Once there, she had escaped into the bathroom and called for Prue, who had orbed in.

Once told of the situation, Prue had debated how it should be handled. In the end, curiosity won out and she had decided to go with the truth. If it failed, Memory Dust was always an option.

A shaken Gloria had paled even further when _two_ women had emerged from her bathroom. As the children had gathered around Prue, Gloria Puckerman had a sinking feeling that her world was about to turn on its axis.

And it did.

Prue told her everything: who she was, who Kurt was, and who the girls were. A few examples of magic later, and Gloria was deep in thought.

In the end, her daughter was alive, and that was thanks only to the quick-thinking six-year-old boy in front of her. That was all that mattered.

Memory dust hadn't been necessary. Gloria and Puck had accepted everything at face value, too grateful to worry about possible ramifications. Grace had been too young to understand things, so she hadn't been told until much later.

In reality, it had worked out well for everyone. Kurt had made a mortal friend, Grace suddenly had another brother and a bunch of sisters, and Gloria had become part of a coterie of women who supported her, which was what she had needed most after her husband's abandonment.

And life went on.

Puck had accepted Quinn and Brittany easily enough, but had detested Santana, who felt much the same. Still, at the end of the day, they had each other's back when it truly counted. Puck was inoffensive enough when Artie had been added to Kurt's mortal coterie, especially because Artie didn't know Kurt was a witch. It was harder for him to reconcile Mike's role in Kurt's life and what it would one day mean. While they were still children, it wouldn't much matter, but when they got older, Mike would become more important, more essential.

Puck still felt that way sometimes, that he was in competition with Mike for Kurt's attention. He knew he was the only one who thought so; that Mike, in fact, had gone out of his way to make friends with him. Puck knew he was a selfish person. He wanted Kurt all to himself despite knowing he couldn't be everything Kurt needed. So he tried his hardest to be the best friend and heterosexual life partner.

Puck's devotion to Kurt, however, had created unforeseen problems, the primary of which was the unparalleled jealousy of Finn Hudson. Puck had been _his_ best friend, but suddenly that had changed and all Puck wanted to do was hang out with the itty bitty bit of a thing who used big words and looked like a department store mannequin.

Before that, Finn had been a tangential part of Kurt's life in that Finn and Quinn were in the midst of a childhood romance. It had been easy enough to accept that Kurt was part of Quinn's life; Quinn had, after all, made sure he realized that would ever change, that Kurt and Brittany and Santana were everything to her. And that had been fine, because even though he hadn't had the vocabulary to explain it, he knew that Kurt could never feel about Quinn the way he did.

And the truth of the matter was that Finn had thought Kurt was really awesome. He would've liked to have been Kurt's friend, but he had never said so.

Kurt had always been nice to him. He had never talked down to him like a lot of other kids did. Plus, Puck had still looked out for him and they were still boys and stuff, and he had Quinn. So it was okay. But then Puck had become a traitor and suddenly Kurt had _everything _and it was just so unfair.

He had been so jealous. He had been jealous every time he saw Puck and Kurt holding hands, or Quinn and Kurt hugging, or Kurt running to his daddy when the man picked him up from school, or the really pretty lady who picked him up when the daddy to work. And, for some reason he had never been able to figure out, he was also jealous of Quinn and Puck ... for having Kurt.

It had made his head hurt a lot.

* * *

><p>It still did.<p>

Finn glared over at Kurt's table, sneering at Puck, who was whispering in Kurt's ear, who was laughing and resting his head on Mike's shoulder, who was looking at Kurt like he was _everything_, who was being watched by a creepily happy Santana...

It just went on and on.

Last year, he thought he'd finally been able to start over. He had started going steady with Mercedes Jones, who, while bossy, wasn't nearly as bossy as Rachel Berry, who he had dated in freshman year. Besides, Finn sometimes liked being bossed around. Plus, Mercedes didn't like Santana or Quinn, not after they had her thrown her off the Cheerios.

And, okay, Finn felt they might have been right to do so, because all Mercedes had done while part of the team was bitch about the number of practices and how cruel Coach Sylvester was and everything else. Finn didn't know a lot about cheerleading, but he did know about teamwork. Quinn and Santana often fought but they always united when it counted; Mercedes, for whatever reason, couldn't do that.

Finn thought she'd be a lot happier if she had a girlfriend who she could talk to about girl stuff, because he didn't really understand girl stuff. But Mercedes had always been kind of a guy's girl. She had been a tomboy when they were younger and more interested in playing football with the boys than taking ballet with Brittany and ... Kurt.

That was something else he didn't understand, why Mercedes was so obsessed with having Kurt for a friend. Sure, Kurt was nice to her, he was pretty much nice to everyone who didn't call him names, but he already had a best friend. Several of them. It wasn't that he was _rejecting_ Mercedes; he just didn't have room for her in his life in that way.

Actually, Finn thought Kurt had always been kind to Mercedes about that. When he had parties, he always invited her, but then she would never go because the other girls would be there, the Cheerios would be there, someone she didn't like who didn't like her would be there. But Kurt still kept inviting her.

Mercedes was, for whatever reason, convinced that Kurt would be the only best friend she would ever need and vice versa, that Kurt wouldn't need the other girls if he just had her. He was gay, so he understood girl stuff, but he was still a guy, and she was only really comfortable with guys. Sometimes it made Finn really sad that Mercedes was so lonely, but, then again, she didn't try to do anything about it, and that wasn't Kurt's fault.

At the same time he had started dating Mercedes, a new kid had transferred in and Finn had thought Sam Evans was really cool. He had thought that just maybe he'd get a new best friend.

But no.

On Sam's second day, he and Finn were in the sophomore hall, their lockers relatively close together. They were talking about football and that Sam liked to sing and he might be interested in Glee, and then the doors had flown open and the Bitches of Eastwick had stormed inside.

Kurt was in the middle, as always. That day he was flanked by the Blond Bookends, Quinn and Brittany, while Santana brought up the rear. In fact, she had been noticeably ogling Kurt's rear and hadn't given a shit what anyone thought about it.

That day was also one of those in which they had coordinated outfits. Kurt and Brittany were wearing white Oxfords, Brittany's tied above the navel, and black leather pants. Quinn had a fitted white Oxford and a modest leather skirt with knee-high leather boots. Santana, of course, was wearing a shirt like Brittany's, paired with a leather miniskirt and hooker boots. They were all wearing the same Aviator sunglasses.

They had stalked down the hall like it was a runway, their gaits perfect in sync, their hips set on maximum sway.

Sam had turned around to stare and Finn wondered which of the girls he was considering. Brittany and Santana were together, of course, but they sometimes invited a guy to join them once and a while. Quinn had a steady boyfriend.

Halfway down the hall, a reshuffling occurred. Santana moved up front and walked next to Brittany; Quinn was joined by her boyfriend, Matt Rutherford; Puck inserted himself between Quinn and Kurt while Mike squeezed in between Kurt and Brittany.

Sam had made a disappointed squawk and Finn had been shocked to realize the other boy had been looking at _Kurt_.

"Forget it," he had snapped at Sam. "Kurt and Mike have been dating since first grade. No joke, either."

But then Brittany had suddenly come to halt. Immediately, so had the others. She had then pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head and smiled at Sam, who beamed back. She waved him over and, just like that, Sam was lost to him.

Kurt had won yet again.

Oh, sure, it had been Brittany who had taken Sam but Kurt had kept him. And it was pretty damn obvious to everyone that Sam was in love with Kurt. The kicker was that he was also in love with Mike. Everyone was taking bets on when the Unambiguously Gay Duo would become the Outrageously Gay Trio.

* * *

><p>Finn sighed and looked down at his empty plate. Had he really eaten <em>all<em> the fries?

His feelings for Kurt had changed a lot since their parents started dating. He and Kurt didn't necessarily like each other, but they didn't hate each other. They could get along well enough as long as they weren't exposed to each other for too long a period of time. Both of them wanted their parents to be happy and Finn hadn't seen him mom this happy in years. Plus, Burt was a really cool guy.

Maybe he and Kurt could become friends, but he could never get Kurt alone. One of the girls was usually always with him. If they weren't, then Mike or Puck or Artie or Matt or some combination thereof was surrounding him.

Kurt and Artie had the geekiest bromance in the world because they were both so brainy, even though Kurt often kept his nerdaliciousness on the down-low. It had only intensified when Artie had begun dating Rachel this past year. They were a surprisingly good match, but often fought. When that happened, Kurt was, for whatever reason, drawn in the middle. He would listen to both sides and try to negotiate a peace. Artie was grateful and Rachel adoring. That Kurt couldn't stand Rachel made no difference to her.

Matt was usually around because he was Mike's best friend and Quinn's boyfriend, but Matt and Kurt were actual friends in their own rights. They both read a lot of books and liked talking about them; Brittany often joined them. In fact, Matt used more words with Kurt than with any other person. Of course, Mike and Matt had never really needed words, and Quinn and Matt had other uses for their mouths.

Speaking of Matt, Finn repressed the glare threatening to erupt when Matt slid into the seat next to Quinn and gently kissed her cheek. He still couldn't believe they were dating. He still couldn't believe her mom had allowed it. Although, Mrs. Fabray was actually pretty nice. She had mellowed out a lot and was much happier since the divorce. Quinn had often told him how happy she had been when they had left her father.

It was Quinn's father who was the racist. And the misogynist. And the homophobe.

Damn. Finn _really_ hoped he wasn't the second coming of that asshole.

But he couldn't be racist, right? He was dating a black girl and he really loved Mercedes.

Misogynist? He sure hoped not, but Quinn had called him that more than once. He didn't know if Mercedes also thought it was true, but she usually would tell him flat out when he pissed her off or when he needed to shut up.

Homophobe?

He didn't _want_ to be homophobic. He didn't _think_ he was homophobic, but he wasn't sure. He wondered how he would have reacted if Kurt or Mike or Sam had ever developed a crush on him. He hoped he wouldn't have been a dick about it.

Then he wondered why gay guys _didn't _crush on him. Wasn't he hot enough? Mercedes thought he was hot. Quinn and Rachel had too. Was he not hot enough for guys? And why the hell was he even thinking about this?

His eyes narrowed at Puck, his ex-best friend. Puck was laughing and having fun with his girlfriend Tina and Kurt and Quinn and everyone else, even Santana.

Finn then realized that Mercedes and Sam were staring at him.

"Hi."

Sam sighed, stood up, and crossed the room to sit at Kurt's table. Finn flushed as he watched Mike slyly stroke Sam's arm.

Why did it bother him? Okay, he was still hurt that Sam hadn't been the new best friend for which he'd been hoping, but...

Mercedes watched him with appraising eyes. "You stare at them an awful lot," she said evenly.

Finn knew he had to play this carefully. "It's different now that Mom's dating Burt. I have to ... think more, especially before I say words. Kurt and his dad are super close and I don't want to piss off Kurt by accident and then Burt hears about it and decides to break up with Mom because he's mad at me." He shook his head. "She's really happy and she deserves to be."

Her eyes softened. "You're a lot smarter than you realize, baby."

He blushed for an entirely different reason.

No, he might not have the close friendships Kurt and Puck and the girls enjoyed, but he was happy. He loved Mercedes, he was the quarterback, he was passing his classes, and his mom had finally found a good man.

He just had to work on not being so jealous all the damn time and focus on remembering all of the good stuff he _did_ have.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure?" Tara Maclay whispered, anxiously looking around.<p>

"Don't worry," Anya assured her. "We're safe, at least for the moment."

Tara quietly exhaled. "What about the others?"

Anya nodded. "Ready to offer their help as soon as they're asked."

Tara closed her eyes. "I can't believe this is happening."

Anya snorted. "Really? You understand balance, Tara. That was what always made you a superior witch to Willow, though she has more innate power."

Tara stared at her. "Do you really think we can win?"

Anya shrugged. "We've taken on a god before."

"And Buffy died."

Anya blinked. "True, but the world survived, which wouldn't have happened if Buffy hadn't been willing to sacrifice herself."

Tara cocked her head. "I've never heard you sing Buffy's praises before."

Anya soured. "I'm not. I'm just lauding her one unselfish choice. I always liked Dawn better, anyway. Besides, I'm still unsure just how unselfish that jump was. You know as well as I do that Buffy's always had a death wish."

Tara gave her a reproachful glare but neither did she deny the charge. Anya's words, while brutal, were not necessarily untrue.

"There's more Slayers now," Anya continued. "There are the Charmed Ones, the Pentad, and all the others from Brittany's prophecy."

"Including Xander?" Tara asked gently.

Anya merely blinked again. "You don't have to whisper his name as though we're in a church. I'm perfectly aware of his marriage and I even approve. Besides, we all thought he was just a bit gay."

She shrugged again. "He loved me, Tara. I never doubted that, only his ability to love himself. Because of Sam, he can do that now and that makes me happy. I have no reason to be angry at or jealous of Sam Winchester. Besides, I've been able to witness their frequent and vigorous intercourse, and that makes me happy too. It is well and truly spectacular. I taught him well."

Tara burst into laughter.

"We're going to be okay, Tara," she insisted. "All of us will be okay. When has Xander ever failed? And there is Kurt to consider, after all. He's pretty much _Xander: The Sequel_."

Tara nodded, though her anxiety was apparent.

Anya looked up. "The Queen doth approacheth," she said, smirking, "and if you think Cordelia Chase is about to put up with shit from anyone, god or otherwise, think again."


	8. Interregnum

Mike had no idea what was happening, what he had said or done to piss off Kurt, but it must have been truly epic.

He had to admit that he usually got a kick out of Kurt when he morphed into a raging bitch; it was always an awesome sight to behold. That said, he'd never before been the focus of such bitchery and was finding he most definitely did not enjoy it.

Even the girls had sensed it and left, abandoning the Hummel house and leaving a terrified Mike alone with his stupidly powerful boyfriend. A part of Mike wanted to kick his own ass because Kurt's frightening glare was making him hard. Jesus, what was wrong with him?

But Kurt was so sexy, _so_ _fucking sexy_, when he let himself go and allowed his insecurities to fall away.

Kurt suddenly whirled to face him, finally falling quiet though he breathed heavily.

"Stay out of my head," Mike snapped. "You know I can't stand when you do that!"

Kurt was honestly contrite. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to, really. You were just broadcasting very loudly."

Mike rushed forward and pulled Kurt into a hard embrace. He knew he had a tendency to treat Kurt as though he were made of glass. It wasn't because he thought Kurt incapable - Kurt could actually be pretty fucking terrifying - it was just that...Kurt was so _precious_ to him. He couldn't - he _wouldn't_ - imagine life without Kurt by his side, because that would be no life at all.

"Please tell me why you're so upset with me," Mike pleaded. "I'm not telepathic. I don't know what I did that's made you so angry. How can we talk about it if you won't tell me?"

Kurt stilled in his arms and pulled back slightly, looking up at him.

Mike was startled at the reminder that he and Kurt were almost the same height now. For so long, Mike had towered over him and he had kind of dug that because it made him feel like some big protector, even though Kurt could pretty much wipe the floor with, well, anybody.

Kurt had grown up.

Oh.

_Oh._

"Why do you pull away every time I try ..." Kurt trailed off, averting his eyes and cursing his furious blush. "Do you not ... am I not ..." His frustration overcame him and he fell silent, grinding his teeth.

Mike felt like the world's biggest asshole. "You're everything to me. If you don't know that, it's my fault. Of course I want us to have sex. You are the most beautiful person I've ever seen, male or female, witch or mortal. There's no one who could even compare to you.

"I love you _so much_, Kurt," he whispered. "I've loved you since we were six years old, since the very moment I met you. I knew then that I would have no life without you in it. Remember when Brittany married us under the jungle gym in second grade? That was real for me. I really do think of you as my husband."

Kurt blinked owlishly. "Really?" he murmured.

The disbelief in Kurt's voice broke Mike's heart. He sighed.

"Maybe I've just romanticized it for too long. I _think_ I'm ready, you've said that _you're_ ready, but how do we really know? We've seen what happens to other couples when they have sex. I want it to be perfect, but I know it probably won't be. I know that we'll both be nervous and scared and unsure. I know that it will probably be over far too soon. We're...we're such _virgins_, Kurt, and I'm scared that I won't be good, that I won't be good for you. I don't want you to regret anything."

Kurt took his face in his hands. "I had no idea you felt that way." He smiled sadly. "Despite what you believe, I can't always read you, Mike. The moments I most want to know what you're thinking are the same moments denied to me. I don't know why. Maybe that's just magic's way of keeping some mystery in our relationship."

He gently traced the apple of Mike's cheek. "We've waited a long time, longer than most of our friends, and if you want to wait longer, that's fine. It really is. I feel I'm ready, but I don't want to pressure you. I never want to do that. I never want you to resent me. I'm not worried about what it will be like, because the _only _thing that matters is that it will be with you."

Mike bit his lip and blinked harshly to hold back the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes. Why did Kurt have to say stuff like that? Why did Kurt have to be so ... so ... _Kurt_? He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to Kurt's own.

"I'm scared," he admitted. "I know how it's all supposed to work, but actually doing it? We don't even know ..."

He blushed furiously.

"Don't know what?" Kurt prompted. "Tell me, Mike. We should be able to discuss this. Are you scared in general, or are you scared of me?"

Mike's eyes snapped open. "Of course I'm not scared of you!" He sighed. "I'm just...I'm so _nervous_. What if I hurt you? What if you hurt me? And that's another thing: who's going to top? Do you want to? What if I don't like being the bottom? What if you don't either? What happens then?"

"Whoa," Kurt said soothingly, "calm down, honey. Let's just take this one step at a time, okay?"

Mike nodded tightly.

Kurt exhaled. "Okay, first of all, just because we're gay doesn't mean we're required to have anal sex. If you don't want to, for whatever reason, then we won't."

"Do you want to?"

"Yes," Kurt said frankly. "I want to feel you inside me."

His bluntness, the immediacy and truth of his words, made Mike's heart skip, his stomach flip, and his cock hard. He ran his tongue over his suddenly dry lips. "You want that?" he asked, voice husky and filled with longing.

Kurt's eyes widened. "Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how often I've dreamed of you bending me over the closest horizontal object and fucking me until I lose consciousness?"

Mike started panting. Kurt didn't say words like those often, if at all. To hear them now, in this context, with Kurt so obviously _wanting_ him...

Wow.

_Wow_.

"But what if I hurt you?" Mike demanded. "I don't know how to do ... that. How to do it right. I want to make you feel _good_. I don't want to cause you pain." He frowned. "And what if I want you to ..." he trailed off, tasting the word on his tongue before uttering it "... fuck me?"

He swallowed with great difficulty as he watched Kurt's eyes darken with desire, lids growing heavy, and suddenly he had images in his mind of Kurt fucking him against a wall, in a car, in an elevator, in a grocery store.

Whoa.

Then the scenarios shifted and he was fucking Kurt in the Cheerios' locker room, in the dressing room at Marshall Fields, on a swingset.

Okay, so maybe he wanted to try anal.

And then Kurt was back in his arms, pressed up against him tightly, and he could feel how hard Kurt was. He could feel how hard _he_ had make Kurt. He felt an absurd sense of accomplishment. But he wanted to feel a lot more. He groaned.

"I want you so much, Mike," Kurt whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his boyfriend's mouth. "Every morning I wake up and I'm hard like this because of you, because I've been dreaming of you all night, dreaming of having you in every possible way."

Mike inhaled sharply.

"I meant what I said before. I don't want to rush you. I don't have a problem with waiting. But can we at least make our relationship a little more ... R-rated? _Please_?"

Mike's breathing increased rapidly. "What ... What did you have in mind?"

"Blowjobs."

Mike groaned again, dropping his head on Kurt's shoulder.

"I want you in my mouth," Kurt whispered before nibbling on a delicious earlobe.

"Kurt," Mike whined.

"I want to taste you. I want to swallow you."

"Oh, god. Oh god, oh god, oh god."

"Can we at least do handjobs?" Kurt begged. "_Please_, Mike. I, I just ... I _need_ to touch you. I need to _feel_ you. I know that we're more than sex, more than hormones and proximity and convenience. You're it for me. I'm not trying to use sex to validate us, but I need _something_."

Mike winced. He hadn't realized just how much his constant rejections had hurt and frustrated Kurt. He had thought he was doing the right things: not rushing, taking their time, waiting for that special moment; and he _was_ glad they had waited, but did they really need to wait longer?

They _had_ taken their time. They had taken more than ten years. They were hopelessly in love with each other, they had that going in, and it was possible that sex would only deepen their connection. Now that he was forced to stop and think about it, he no longer felt rushed. Sex was the next logical progression of their relationship. Yes, he was nervous and scared, but so was Kurt, and at least they would face everything together.

"Is anyone else home?"

Kurt's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he frantically shook his head. "No! Dad's at work and Prue's over at Aunt Ashley's."

"Can ... can we take it slow?"

Kurt's eyes softened. "We can do whatever you like, Mike. You set the pace."

Mike shyly began unbuttoning his shirt, blushing furiously at Kurt's sharp gasp when he removed it.

"You're beautiful," Kurt whispered, his eyes reverent. "You're so beautiful, Mike. You're _perfect_."

Mike didn't feel perfect. He felt awkward and nervous and ...

"You're perfect to me," Kurt added. "You're perfect _for_ me."

Mike's smile was blinding. "Will you hold me?"

And then Kurt was in his arms, pressed so tightly against him they were almost one.

"Take your shirt off," Mike murmured, sucking on the pulse point right behind Kurt's ear. "I want to feel your skin against mine."

Kurt shuddered and moaned deeply in his throat, the vibration of which caused Mike, impossibly, to harden even further. Kurt quickly divested himself of his top layers and then both hissed at the bare contact. Mike maneuvered them over to the bed.

"Pants?" Kurt hesitantly asked after they had settled.

Mike slowly nodded. "But that's all for right now? Please?"

"Of course."

Then they were in their underwear and Mike closed his eyes in bliss as Kurt's silky skin glided all over his body. It was the most erotic sensation he had ever experienced. His senses went on overdrive as Kurt's natural scent, sandalwood, as well as his grapefruit shampoo, overwhelmed him. God, Kurt always smelled so _good_.

"I love you," Kurt whispered in his ear. "I love you so much, Michael."

Mike bit his lip. Other than his parents, only Kurt ever called him _Michael_ and his connotation was entirely different from theirs. There was something so seductive, so fucking _hot_, when Kurt used his insufferable Hermione Granger voice, all bossy and proper with veiled impatience.

Mike very much enjoyed when Kurt took charge, as it was somewhat rare. Yes, Kurt was the unquestioned head of their coven and he led the charge in every magical situation. In private, however, when it was just them, Kurt was shy and somewhat reserved, preferring Mike take the reins. Mike would make and set up their dates, including times and places. Mike would choose what movies they watched, the restaurants at which they dined, the stores they visited in the mall.

Frankly, Mike was sick of it.

He liked when Kurt assumed command. He liked it when Kurt made choices for them. He liked it when Kurt wasn't reticent or anxious about making a decision or asking a question. They'd been together for over a decade, yet Kurt was often so apprehensive where their relationship was concerned.

Why? Why was Kurt so terrified that he would be left?

Mike knew that if he and Kurt ever broke up, it would Kurt who would have to initiate it. He would never leave Kurt by choice.

Both of them arched their backs when their clothed erections came into contact. Mike's gasp was smothered when his mouth was assaulted by Kurt's own. His eyes rolled back into his head as Kurt sucked on his tongue.

Everything was so _intense_: scent, sight, taste, colors. It all felt so much more _real_; they both felt more alive than ever before.

And then Kurt was grinding against him and nibbling on his collar bone and licking the hollow beneath his Adam's apple.

Jesus Christ, how had he gotten this far in life without experiencing Kurt Hummel feasting on him? What had he been thinking by delaying this so much?

Kurt's fingertips mapped every inch of Mike's body, memorizing every little sigh and gasp that escaped during his ministrations. He was meticulous in his exploration, nothing mattering more at this moment than Mike's utter satisfaction.

"I love you," Kurt breathed into his ear. "I love you so much, Michael. I can't even imagine a world without you in it, and I don't want to."

How had Kurt made the name _Michael_ an adjective of all things holy?

"I love you, too," Mike murmured in between moans. "You're my everything, Kurt. You're my first thought when I wake up and my last when I lie down. You're in every dream I have and you keep all of the monsters at bay."

They then locked eyes and Mike couldn't remember when he had ever seen Kurt look so _gorgeous. _His face and upper chest were flushed, sweat dripping from his brow, pupils blown, hair tousled from sweat and Mike's fingers.

And Mike had made that happen. Kurt looked like that - like a sexy, wild, craven man - because of _him_. Mike Chang was debauching the most powerful witch who had ever walked the planet.

He shuddered in ecstasy, his body convulsing as his orgasm approached. Inanely, he was annoyed that he hadn't brought Kurt off first. After all, Kurt was doing most of the work; Mike was just laying there and going boneless. If it was this amazing - and they hadn't even taken off their underwear - he was fairly certain Kurt would kill him when it came time for actual sex.

"Come for me, Michael," Kurt pleaded. "I want to see your face when you come."

That was all it took.

Mike was then shrieking as his orgasm was ripped from him, crying out in rapture, before sinking his teeth into Kurt's shoulder.

"Harder!" Kurt encouraged. "Mark me, Michael. Make me yours."

Mike couldn't stand it anymore. He rolled them over, pinning Kurt underneath him, and thrust his hand into Kurt's jock.

"Oh, my god," Kurt whispered, eyes closing.

"Keep your eyes open," Mike hissed.

Kurt immediately complied.

"Look at me. I love you so much. You're my life. I was a fucking idiot for making you wait."

"No," Kurt slurred. "I under..."

"Fuck understanding!" Mike scowled, fisting Kurt's slick cock in his hand. "You mean everything to me and I denied you because I was scared, because I was terrified that once we did this, you wouldn't want me anymore."

Kurt was horrified and shaking his head in denial.

Mike buried his face in Kurt's neck.

_Fuck_, how could Kurt still smell so goddamn delicious after all this? He started lapping at Kurt's neck, smiling when Kurt released a keening wail.

"Only you, Mike," Kurt mumbled. "I only want you."

And then he spilled over into Mike's hand before pulling Mike down on top of him, his arms and legs wrapping tight around Mike's body and holding him in place. If he could have crawled into Mike's skin, he would have. He had never been this close to anyone and he didn't want it to stop.

"You're amazing," he whispered into Mike's ear.

Mike pressed kisses to Kurt's chest, but he was also suddenly aware that this was about a lot more than taking their relationship to the next level. This was about love, yes, absolutely, but there was also something...contrived about it.

"What about Sam?" he asked.

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he heard Kurt's intake of breath.

Kurt released him, pushed him off, and turned his head to the side, drawing the sheet up over his body.

"I'm not enough for you."

"That's not true at all!" Mike bellowed. "You're everything to me!"

"I'm not," Kurt said, voice dull and tinny. "You want him, too."

"Don't you?" Mike asked in confusion.

"Not more than I want you," Kurt whispered. "Not more than I wanted this. I wanted this to be for _us_, to be _about_ us."

Mike slowly exhaled. He had taken a lot for granted where Sam was concerned - and Kurt, too, frankly. He had just assumed that Kurt had been on the same page, but he obviously wasn't. Not at all.

The truth of the matter was that while Mike loved Sam, he didn't love him in the same way he loved Kurt. He never could. He could live a life without Sam - he didn't particularly want to, but he _could_ - but he could never live without Kurt.

And he knew Sam felt the same way.

From the moment - the very _moment_ - Sam had caught sight of Kurt, he had fallen hopelessly in love. Mike knew that Sam loved him, but his love for Kurt was on another level entirely.

Mike and Sam had fallen for Kurt instantly, but their love for each other had taken much longer to develop. At first, Sam had been extremely cautious and Mike very territorial. Sam's connection to Kurt had been apparent from that first day and Mike knew he couldn't interfere with that, that he shouldn't, that Sam had been given to Kurt for a reason.

And he was scared. When Brittany had revealed that Sam was the Fifth, Mike knew that, regardless of their feelings for Kurt, Sam wasn't going anywhere. At the end of the day, the Pentad was more important than Mike Chang.

Kurt wouldn't have agreed, of course. If Mike had asked, Kurt would have banished Sam from their circle and the Pentad would never have come together. Mike knew that, but he could never countenance it. He knew how important Kurt was, what would soon come to be demanded of him, and he wasn't going to let Kurt go out into that terrifying world without every weapon in his arsenal available to him.

Sam was important to Kurt, and thus he was important to Mike.

Once Mike had accepted that, he accepted Sam. It was easy, really. Sam was a truly awesome guy, the kind of guy you read about in stories who has it all but never gets the girl or guy because he's _too_ nice. Sam really was a nice person.

Sam was what Mike wanted for Kurt.

And then Mike and Sam had grown closer. Their conversations became deeper and their casual touches became softer. And then they were in the locker room after a game and couldn't stop staring at each other while they showered.

He liked Sam. He wanted Sam. He loved Sam.

But definitely not more than he loved Kurt.

So if Sam was what Mike wanted and Sam was also what Kurt needed, then Mike intended to make sure Kurt had Sam. He could share. It was worth it. Kurt was worth anything.

Somehow, he had neglected to ask Kurt just what it was that _he_ wanted. It was an asinine thing to do. Mike _knew_ how insecure Kurt was about interpersonal relationships. He didn't necessarily know _why_ Kurt was so insecure, but he knew that he was. It never even crossed his mind that Kurt might feel jealous or hurt because of Sam.

Especially because Mike knew - he absolutely _knew_ - that Kurt was also in love with Sam.

This was about something more he had originally thought. He also believed that Kurt was deliberately trying to manipulate him into feeling guilty, to make him feel as insecure as Kurt himself was feeling.

"Look at me," Mike said softly.

Kurt ignored him and kept his eyes focused firmly on the far wall.

"Look at me!" Mike thundered, wincing when Kurt flinched and cautiously peeked over his shoulder, huge eyes meeting Mike's own.

"I love you," Mike repeated. "I want to be with you. That is _never_ going to change."

He warmed when that delectable blush started across Kurt's cheeks.

"Tell me, right here and right now, that you're not in love with Sam and I'll never bring this up again. I'm not going to let him or anyone else come between us, Kurt. You're too important to me. I can't live without you; I won't. But I need you to tell me that you don't love him. I also need you to tell that to him, because whether or not you believe it, whether you or not you want to acknowledge it, you _know_ that Sam is in love with you."

Kurt dropped his eyes, his blush deepening.

"It's _okay_ that you love Sam," said a gentle Mike. "I love him, too. No, I don't love him the way I love you. There is no one I could love the way that I love you." He took in a deep breath. "I can live without Sam. I cannot live without you. So if Sam is a deal-breaker, then I can let him go with little difficulty, but you also have to do the same for him. It would be too cruel to allow him to continue to love you and not tell him that nothing will ever come of it."

A sinking feeling began settling in his stomach. He drew in a sharp breath as tears gathered in his eyes. "And if you want to be with Sam instead of me," he whispered, swallowing heavily, "then I under..."

"No!" Kurt yelled, sitting straight up. "No! Never. I will _always_ want you, Mike. You're mine until the day we both die and then for the eternity after that." His eyes darkened. "You. Are. _Mine_."

Mike shuddered, Kurt's possessiveness reawakening his cock.

Kurt turned away, his face pensive. "Why...I just want to be normal. I want one thing in my life to be _normal_. I don't always want to be the Hand. I don't always want to be the leader of the Pentad. I don't want to be the subject of prophecies or know that, if I don't make the right choices, I could help bring the end of existence as we know it. Being in love with two people is not normal.

"_You're_ my normal. You make me sane when everything is crazy. You make remember that I'm _Kurt_, that I'm an actual person, not just a construct or a...or a _thing_ that exists to placate the whims of others."

Mike reached over and pulled Kurt toward him, not caring when Kurt fought. He knew that Kurt would eventually settle in his arms and, soon enough, he did.

"You're Kurt Hummel," Mike whispered, kissing Kurt's ear. "That's who you are to me. I don't care about the rest of it. That's just biology. It's forces beyond our control. When I look at you, I see that boy from the very first day of school who looked at me shyly and told me he liked the way my hair shined."

Kurt said nothing for a very long time, content, for the moment, to be held.

"I do love Sam," he finally whispered, "but I shouldn't. It's not right. It hurts my heart. You're my everything and that should be enough. There's something _wrong_ with me that I won't let you be enough."

Mike sighed and gently began rocking them. "You're looking at this the wrong way. Sam being given to us is a blessing, not a curse. It's the universe's way of balancing the scales somewhat for everything it has planned for you. You _deserve_ love, Kurt. Your love for Sam takes nothing away from your love for me."

He paused. "If you're lucky, you'll find one true love in your life. Your parents had that. Mine have that. Brittany and Santana have that. But we have two. That's amazing."

Kurt sighed.

"Prue is hopelessly in love with a man who's happily married to another man," Mike continued. "Puck and Tina are happy for now, but he's in love with you and she's in love with Santana. We both know that Quinn and Matt aren't going to last. Eventually the fact that he's not magical is going to come between them. As much as Quinn loves him, and I know that she does, she needs to be with someone who is able to share her entire experience, not just parts of herself."

"What about you and Matt?" Kurt asked gently, rubbing Mike's arm.

"It's not the same. I trust Matt with my life. He's my best friend. He knows I'm a witch and it doesn't scare him. I know that he will never betray me. I know that he loves you because I do. I know that he will always love Quinn. And I know that _he_ knows they're not meant to last. He helped her get over Finn and she helped him come out of his shell. That's enough for them."

"Why do you think Quinn hasn't told him?"

"Because, at the end of the day, magic is more important to her than Matt is, and that's okay. It's good she realizes it and doesn't string him along. You and Sam mean more to her than Matt ever will, and it's not because she doesn't love him, but because you're her best friends. You know everything about her and love her anyway. I honestly don't know if Matt could handle it. Sure, he could deal with the fact that she's a witch, but that's she's a fifth of the Pentad? No."

"I feel like it's my fault."

"That's bullshit. Kurt, Sam and the girls have their own destinies. The fact that those destinies overlap with yours is not your responsibility. If anything, be grateful that the Powers saw fit to grace you with people you love and trust. Imagine having to go through all of this and being saddled with someone like Karofsky or Rachel."

Kurt made gagging noises. "Point taken," he said after several long moments.

"Look how close you are to Artie," Mike added. "He arguably knows you better than anyone outside of the circle, but you haven't told him."

"I can't," he whispered. "I'm scared. What if he wanted me to use magic to..."

"To make his legs whole?" Mike quietly asked.

"I don't know if I could do that," Kurt painfully admitted. "I'd want to, but I don't know if it would be the right thing. My healing ability is new and mostly untested. I don't even know if I'd be allowed to heal a mortal. Artie wasn't injured fighting evil."

"I thought those were rules only for Whitelighters?" Mike asked.

Kurt shrugged. "No one knows, and that's what scares me. Personal gain is a real thing. Spells backfiring are a real thing. I don't want to hurt Artie anymore than he's already been hurt."

"You can't be everything for everyone, baby," Mike said. "You're the best person I know. You're kind and caring and compassionate, even to those who don't return the favor, but you're not omnipotent. You don't control this strange world. You're strong, yes, and ridiculously powerful, but you're still _human_, Kurt."

"Am I?" Kurt whispered.

"Of course you are! Kurt, you're the very definition of humanity. You have this almost insurmountable task set for you and you have never once flinched in the face of it. You've never run from it or abandoned your comrades, even though you could; you have the power to do it. But that's never even occurred to you. You love this world and the people in it. You want to protect them and you're planning to do just that.

"There's nothing in it for you. You know better than to expect some grand reward. You know very well that you could die. You know...you know we could lose some or all of our friends."

Kurt gasped and turned his head, burying it in Mike's neck.

"But will you let that stop you?"

"No," Kurt answered, voice small. "I can't. Too many people are depending on me."

"Don't do this because of other people, Kurt. Do it because it's the right thing to do. This is a good fight and I'm glad to be a part of it. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than standing at your side."

"I wouldn't survive if I lost you."

"Yes, you would," Mike said staunchly, "because you know what's at stake and you know I would want you to go on and kick this thing's ass, whatever it turns out to be. And we both know you will never lose me. We might be separated for a while, but we'll always find our way back to each other."

"Do you really believe that?" Kurt asked in wonder.

Mike pressed a soft kiss to Kurt's cheek. "I believe in you."


	9. To Tell the Truth

It was six in the morning and Connor was surprised but yet not when Dawn stormed into his room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. "And don't tell me nothing is when I _know_ something is!"

He gave her a bland look.

She scoffed. "Really? You're going to try that passive-aggressive shit with me, _really_? You know my sister, right?"

He grimaced. It was a good point.

She sat down on his bed and placed her hands on his knees. "You were upset all day yesterday," she said quietly. "I know we're not really twins, but sometimes ... sometimes I forget, you know? We play the hell out of being brother and sister, but you're more to me than a brother. You're ... you're my other half."

He blushed and looked down. He wanted to tell her he felt the same but he didn't because he didn't know how. Sometimes he was still so confused about who he was, what he felt, the name to which he was supposed to answer.

Once the spell had been broken, he was no longer Stephen, but neither was he Connor. Instead, he was this strange amalgamation of the baby raised by Angel and Cordelia, the boy raised by Holtz, the man Stephen _could_ have been, and the angry young man who had returned, tried to kill his father, and ...

He forced away the images of Jasmine, of what she had made Cordelia do, of what he had been manipulated into doing to her.

And now he was supposed to be Connor Summers, the faux brother of Dawn and Buffy and Xander. It was a difficult sell. He loved Dawn; she was his best friend and, in a very real way, his soul mate - if he believed in such things, which he wasn't sure he did. He didn't like Buffy and never would; the feeling was entirely mutual. He didn't have feelings about Darla one way or the other, but thought it was ridiculous that Buffy disliked him so much simply because of who his mother had been.

As for Xander, well, those feelings never had been and never could be entirely fraternal.

"Is this about Xander?" a knowing Dawn gently asked.

He sighed. "No," he whispered. "I know Xander and Sam belong together. I'm reminded of that every time I look at them." He gave her a watery smile. "It hurts less now. I think it hurt so much before because I love them both and I didn't know how to reconcile my feelings for Sam with his place in my life."

She raised a brow. "And have you?"

He ran his tongue over his lips. "I heard ... "

"I know about the enhanced abilities, Con," she said, rolling her eyes. "How long have we been living together?"

His smile was brittle. "I overheard them talking yesterday afternoon before the, um, the sex. When we were in the living room with the brother."

Dawn quirked her lips. She found it amusing that Conner refused to refer to Dean by name, regarding him only as an unwelcome interloper. "Well," she said, eagerly leaning forward, "don't keep me in suspense!"

He paused. This was verging into territory he wasn't sure was his business. The revelation regarding Dawn's paternity was shocking only in that he hadn't before realized it. He should have. The signs were clearly there.

He sighed and decided to table that avenue of discussion for the moment, placing his hands atop hers.

"Sam told Xander that he thinks of us as their children."

Her wide eyes grew impossibly wider and she said nothing for several long moments. "Really?" she finally whispered.

He understood; he felt the same. Dawn had never had a father, not really; her memories of Hank Summers had been created to satisfy questions which might later arise, but her sense of his abandonment of her and Buffy was quite real. She had loved Joyce dearly but the woman had died when Dawn was still a teenager. According to Dawn, and several other people, she had been a total brat then and had often, sometimes intentionally, alienated her mother, never thinking she might lose her. Until she did.

As for himself, Holtz had never been a father but more of a mentor, and a horrible one at that. He didn't consider Angel his father, not really, and he couldn't remember Cordelia as his mother, surrogate or otherwise. He tried not to remember Cordelia as much as possible.

He bit his lip and nodded.

Dawn exhaled. "Sam's only two years older than us."

"I know, but that's what he said. It's what he feels."

"He ... he loves us? That much? Like a father would?" She tried, but couldn't really wrap her head around the idea. "He _wants_ to be our father?"

"Sam said that he thinks of you and me as their children. Xander asked if Sam wanted to have children with him. Sam said they already had children together."

"Us?"

He nodded.

Dawn was quiet for another long series of moments. Finally, she began to voice her thoughts, speaking slowly, as if testing the words for their veracity as she uttered them. "I understand, you know, your feelings for Xander. I had them too. He was the only man in my life for a very long time."

She looked out the bay window. "Even though my memories from when I was a child are false, they still feel real to me and Xander was a huge part of them. Hank was never interested in me. I was more of an irritant to Giles than anything else. Riley and Spike both thought of me as a little sister, an extension of Buffy. But Xander ... "

She turned back to face him. "He was always there for me. He's the one I remember babysitting me when I was a kid because Buffy couldn't be bothered or was too wrapped up with Angel. Xander taught me how to play video games and count cards and make awesome sandwiches. He's the one who taught me how to ride a bike and who interrogated my first date and who always understood me when I couldn't understand myself.

"He was _there_."

She shook her head in frustration. "I know that doesn't make sense, but ..."

"Yes it does."

She stared into his eyes and nodded before turning wistful. "He became my ideal. At first, I thought of him as my older brother and desperately wanted to trade Buffy for him. Then he started dating Cordelia, who was just so _cool_. She was always nice to me, made time for me, helped me with homework and clothes and boys." She smirked. "That she didn't like Buffy was just a bonus."

She sent an anxious glance his way.

"It's okay to talk about her," he whispered. "I like when you do. It helps me remember that she was a person, that she existed before I ruined her."

She grabbed his chin. "That was _not_ you, Connor. That ... that _thing_ ... used you both. It ... it _raped_ both of you!" She shook her head. "This is something I've never told you because I wasn't sure how you'd react ..."

He unconsciously leaned toward her.

"Willow wasn't the only person with whom Cordelia stayed in contact. By then, I was, well, _real_, I suppose, in that I existed. She had memories of me, either because she was included in the original spell or she was given memories to keep up the façade. She and I used to talk a lot, about Xander," she swallowed, "and about you."

"Me?"

"She loved you so much, Connor. You have to believe that, all right? Because it's true. She loved you because you were _you_, not just because you're Angel's son or in spite of the fact that Darla was your mother. She loved you. When you were taken, well, she had to be strong for Angel, but I remember those early months when she would call me and tell me how much she missed you, how much she loved you, that she _ached_ for you."

She closed her eyes. "I can still hear her sobbing. She couldn't talk about you with Angel and she didn't trust Wesley, not where you were concerned. She wasn't in contact with Xander and she certainly wasn't going to confide something so personal to Willow, so she told me."

His breathing became very shallow as his eyes filled with panic.

"So please trust me when I tell you that, had she survived, she _never_ would have blamed you for what happened. She would have fought anyone and everything for you. She never would have allowed Angel to do that stupid spell. At the end of the day, you were her child and she loved you. She still does. I know that, I _feel_ that. I still feel her. She's all around us."

His angry, bitter tears spilled over.

"I loved my mother with everything inside of me and I always will, but I would be lying if I denied that I hadn't often wished Xander and Cordelia were my parents."

He bit his tongue to hold his silence.

"For so long, my feelings for Xander were confused and I took that out on a lot of people." Her eyes filled with tears. "Especially Anya," she warbled. "It wasn't until Xander left her at the altar that I began to see her as a real person and we became very close. She told me ... she told me that she understood how I felt, about my confusion. She had been a demon for over a thousand years and then suddenly was just _thrust_ into this mortal life without any instruction or help."

She smiled. "Do you know what she said?"

Connor shook his head.

She closed her eyes as the memory washed over her. She opened her mouth and spoke the words Anya had murmured all those years ago: _Suddenly you're thrown into a world that you don't understand. You don't know how things work and no one will it explain it to you. There are rules in place you think are stupid, but you're helpless to change them. People make decisions for you, ones you disagree with; they don't ask you, they don't even make suggestions, they just inform you._

Her eyes opened.

_We're human, Dawn. It doesn't matter who brought us here or how we came to be. We have souls. We love. We are loved. We are_ real.

"Wow," he breathed.

She wiped her eyes and nodded. "Yeah. When she died, it was awful. Xander was a such a mess and neither Willow nor Buffy were much help. They tried, they did, but they never liked Anya. Xander knew that and he also remembered how they had treated Cordelia." She sighed. "Sometimes he would talk to me, but more often than not, he would just sit in a darkened room and try to remember to breathe."

Connor frowned. "Until Sam."

"Well, not just him," Dawn said. "There was also Prue and Africa and Nysa." A corner of her mouth raised in a hesitant smile. "But mostly Sam, yeah."

"I don't think I'll ever have anyone like that," he admitted. "I don't think anyone could ever love me so much."

"That's ridiculous," she countered, rolling her eyes. "We've been through a lot, Con, but we're still young. We're _so _young. Love will find you, but you have to let it." She raised a brow. "That means letting go of some stuff."

He drew up his knees and set his chin on them. "I know, and my feelings for Xander aren't like they were. I mean, I love him, I do, and it's weird that I can say that. I probably couldn't say it to his face and I still can't say it about Angel." He cut her off when she opened her mouth to interrupt. "I don't blame him, Dawn. Nothing that happened to me is really his fault and I know he's done everything he could to help me, even if they weren't necessarily the right things, but I don't feel any connection to him."

"Maybe you should stop trying so hard," she suggested. "You can't force those feelings, Connor. Either you have them or you don't; maybe you'll develop them or you won't. Stop feeling guilty. Angel knew you needed help he couldn't provide, which is why he sent you here in the first place, just like Buffy did with me."

He snorted. "You, I can understand. You've always had a relationship with Xander and Buffy loves him like a brother, but why did Angel send me here? He hates Xander."

Dawn dropped her eyes and looked away. "There's a thin line between love and hate."

His mouth fell open and he stared at her for a long time. "No way," he denied.

She sighed. "No matter what they might say or do, Angel and Xander _are_ connected, even if neither of them desire it. They have feelings for each other. I don't know what those feelings are and I don't think they do either, but they're real. Maybe once, a very long time ago, something might have happened. What I can tell you is that I've never seen either one react to another as they do to each other."

She shrugged. "Xander took you in, Connor. He didn't have to, he didn't owe Angel anything, but he took you because he wanted to help you. Sure, he's come to love you as the awesome guy you are, but initially? It was because Angel asked. That's a lot of trust and responsibility going both ways, though they'll never admit it. If Angel didn't trust him, would he really have given him his _child_?"

He chewed on that for a moment. "Sam was worried that we would leave them, go back to Angel and Buffy."

She scowled. "Not going to happen," she proclaimed. "Not for me and not ever." She paused. "You?"

He slowly shook his head. "I want to be with Xander and Sam. And you."

She grinned and once again took his hand. "So what do we do?"

"They love us, Dawn," he said quietly. "They want to be our parents, so I say we let them. We could do a lot worse."

Her eyes widened. "What do you mean? Like, make it official or something?"

"I think we're too old to be adopted," he said, "but they've been my parents for three years now. I love them. I want to be with them. I think it's time I told them that."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Then let's go wake up our dads."

* * *

><p>Dean stumbled out of the guest room and into the kitchen in desperate search of coffee. He hadn't yet acclimated to the time difference and thought nothing of appearing in just his boxers. He pulled a face when he heard light singing and came to an abrupt halt just before the kitchen island, blinking blearily at the hot piece before him.<p>

"Whoa," he rasped, "I didn't know Sammy had a sexy maid. Awesome. I'll take three eggs sunny-side up."

The girl looked up with a cocked eyebrow and flashing eyes. "I know you didn't just call me a maid."

His eyes widened. "Sorry. Is there a proper term or something? Domestic? Housekeeper?"

Her lip curled. "I live here, jackass."

"Oh. So ... you're a live-in maid?"

"Xander's my guardian, you asshole!"

He blinked again. "Huh?"

She snorted. "You must be the brother," she spat. "You really suck at making first impressions."

"Guardian?" he dumbly repeated.

Nysa pursed her lips and debated what to say. She knew that Dean was unaware of all the Slayer stuff, so she wasn't sure how to phrase this, that Xander was her legal guardian. She couldn't just come out and declare him her Watcher. As she bit her tongue so sharply she drew blood, Sam thankfully wandered in and saved her.

"Morning, Dean," he said, yawning, before sidling up to Nysa and kissing her cheek. "Good morning, honey. You didn't have to start breakfast; it's my turn."

She smiled. "It's no trouble, Sam. I'm happy to help."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the affection and easy familiarity. For some reason he couldn't explain, a protective streak surged up his backbone - for Xander.

"What the hell is this, Sammy? You have a husband in the next room but you're in here creeping on his ward?"

Nysa grabbed a knife and brandished it before her. "Oh, no, you didn't."

Sam grabbed her shoulder. "Easy. It's our fault for not explaining everything to him."

She snarled and glared at Dean, who was now wisely backing up. "First he assumes that I am your maid and now he is insinuating that I am your mistress? I do not care if he _is_ your brother. He must _die_!" She threw the knife, which embedded itself in the wall mere centimeters from Dean's head.

Dean was confused by the sudden proper diction and thick Greek accent. And then there was the knifeplay. "Who the hell are you, lady?"

Sam sighed and forced Nysa's arm to the counter. Well, forced was a misnomer. He couldn't _force_ her to do anything. Slayer strength and all. He rolled his eyes when she grabbed another knife.

"Dean, Nysa is Xander's cousin, a distant cousin, but his only family other than Buffy and the twins. Nysa was born and raised in Namibia to foreign diplomat parents."

He looked at her with a silent question in his eyes.

She gave him a terse nod.

"They were killed three years ago during an insurgence in Libya. Xander arranged to have her come here and live with him."

Dean was frowning and at last nodded. The more he heard about Xander, the greater the respect he was beginning to form for the man. At the very least, his new brother-in-law was devoted to family. That counted for a lot where he was concerned.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, holding out his hand. "I'm sometimes particularly stupid in the early morning. I'm Dean Winchester. It's nice to meet you."

She eyed him with suspicion but at last grunted, grabbing his hand and pumping it once, squeezing harder than was necessary. "Nysa Dicopoulous."

She released him quickly and returned to making breakfast.

Dean sighed and sat down on one of the stools, figuring he had once again fucked up Sam's new life.

"Everything go okay last night?" Sam quietly asked Nysa, who nodded.

"Nothing to report," she muttered.

Dean assumed she must have had a date, one that probably didn't go well, and decided to keep chewing on his foot currently in his mouth rather than inserting the other one. His hand still ached from her grip. Wow, was she into isometrics or something?

Xander breezed in wearing nothing but sleep pants, nodded at Dean, kissed Nysa's cheek in greeting, and wrapped Sam into his arms.

"Morning, baby," he said softly, trailing kisses across Sam's jaw.

Sam smiled, leaned down, and pressed a gentle yet passionate kiss to Xander's lips. "Hi."

Dean watched this with interest and envy. He usually found such easy intimacy to be annoying and cloying, but this ... Sam was so happy. All he'd ever wanted for Sam was his happiness and if Xander gave that to him ... well, he admitted to himself he'd been kind of a dick last night, so he had a lot to make up for. He wasn't going to push, though; he'd let Sam set the pace.

He smiled when Nysa rolled her eyes at Sam and Xander then looked to him and shook her head.

It was at that moment Dawn and Connor bounced into the kitchen. Well, Dawn bounced; Connor sloped.

Dean looked around and wondered what kind of Brady Bunch bullshit this was supposed to be. He wanted to deny it touched him. He stomped down the feelings which demanded he wanted this for himself one day because that shit was corny.

"Morning, Dads!" a cheerful Dawn exclaimed, somehow managing to strangle both Xander and Sam with her hug. Indeed, both men choked, though for different reasons.

"Wha?" Xander said dumbly.

"Dads?" Sam blankly repeated.

She nodded. "Connor overheard you telling Dad Number One that you thought of us as your kids." Her eyes misted. "That really meant a lot to us."

A horrified Sam peeked over at Connor who was smiling blindly at him. That was even scarier.

"So we've decided you're our dads," she said as though it were a foregone conclusion. "In that spirit," she added, holding out her hand, "give me money."

He rolled his eyes.

Dean sniggered. Now _this_ was entertainment!

"I wasn't kidding. I need knew books."

"You don't need new books!" Xander insisted. "You're worse than Giles!"

She wrinkled her nose. "Clothes?"

"_No_, Buffy," he said, grinning.

She growled. "That was low, Dad."

Xander tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat. "Dawn," he said quietly, "your father ..."

"Is right here," she interrupted. "Hank Summers was never my father, neither in thought nor feeling."

"In terms of consecutive parenting," Connor said quietly, "you and Sam have been there for us longer than anyone else."

Xander bit his lip in an effort to quash his own hope. "Connor ..."

"No," the boy said. "You and Sam are my parents. The end."

"It's only logical," Nysa said, rising to their defense as she often did. "If I wasn't the same age as Sam, I would make you both adopt me."

Xander and Sam balked.

Connor stilled. "Can we actually do that? I thought we were too old."

"Sure we can!" Dawn said. "You and I are adults, Con. We can make our own decisions. I'll have Lindsey draw up the papers."

"Do _not_ contact Lindsey," Xander growled.

Her eyes widened and, chastened, she nodded and backed off. "Sorry," she whispered. "He's the only lawyer I know."

"Dawn, you know he has to stay under the radar. If the others even _thought_..."

She nodded again. "I know. I'm sorry."

"What the fuck is going on here!" Dean roared.

Three hours later, he could honestly say he wished he'd never asked.

* * *

><p>Piper was racing around the club like a chicken with her head cut off and loving every minute of it. Somehow, and she wasn't quite sure <em>how<em>, she had forgotten how much work went into hosting a private party, even if it was for her own family.

Part of her still thought this was a bad idea. Getting her entire family together in one location was never a smart thing to do, but she was tired of having to plan family celebrations based around whatever demon du jour was temporarily in charge. Beyond that, however, was that it was technically illegal for her to have her children and nieces and nephew in P3 at all. If the police ever found out, her liquor license would be yanked immediately.

Still, it _was_ her anniversary party, she absolutely wanted her sisters with her, and there was no one they trusted their children with, outside of Darryl and Sheila, who of course were also invited guests. Actually, they were the only guests. She had learned a while ago that inviting mortals to any congregation that involved magic - even if only tangentially - was a certified recipe for disaster. Granted, Darryl and Sheila were the exceptions, but that also meant the kids would also have to attend.

She paused in stacking the crates of champagne in the back room and sighed.

Didn't she and Leo have the right to one day? One measly day to celebrate their union? Their wedding had had to be forced on the sly, their honeymoon had turned into a disaster, the births of their children had been fraught with anguish ...

She shook her head and snapped out of her maudlin thoughts before she could talk herself out of this altogether. She was having this party and that's all there was to it. If demons wanted to attack, she would kill them. If patrons wanted to complain, she would ban them from the club in perpetuity. If her family had doubts, she'd hit them with a stick.

Satisfied, she nodded and grabbed her clipboard before charging back out into the main room where she promptly stopped in her tracks.

Some little boy was sitting at the bar patiently waiting for who knew what.

That vanishing liquor license suddenly became an all too real possibility.

"Excuse me," she said sharply, "but you can't be in here. This club is for persons twenty-one and older. I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but ..."

He whirled around on the stool to face and silently contemplate her.

Whoa. He was _cute_.

She shook her head to clear it as the theme from _Mrs. Robinson_ echoed loudly inside her head.

"But I'm an invited guest," he chirped.

She scowled. Paige and her foster care kids again. Honestly, she admired and respected the social work Paige had thrown herself into after the birth of the twins, but she couldn't have her sister just letting random children into her club!

He cocked his head and smiled. "I know it's been a very long time, Pippy, but I have to admit it stings a bit that you have yet to recognize me."

Her clipboard clattered to the floor.

The only person who had ever called her that was ...

"Kurt?" she whispered, not even daring to hope. But then she noticed the eyes and the hair and the cheekbones and the voice and _oh god_ ...

"Hi, Piper! How's tricks?"

She choked on a sob and, before she knew it, was in his arms. How could he be so tall? How could he be so tall and so _thin_? That was really unfair. And his arms were so strong and he smelled so good and he was _family_.

"I missed you too," he whispered, burying his face in her neck as he ran his finger through her hair.

She released a wet laugh. "I know it's only my anniversary, but why does it feel like my birthday and Christmas all wrapped up in one amazing package?"

"Because my stunning wardrobe makes everything classier."

She honked and pulled back, taking his face in her hands. "Look at you," she murmured, smiling through her tears. "You're all grown up."

He pouted. "And quite without an awesome cousin."

She blushed and turned her head. "Prue was the awesome one."

"You're all awesome. Always have been, always will be. Truly I was born into the right family."

She didn't understand why she couldn't stop laughing. Or crying. "Phoebe will be so happy to see you."

He nodded. "And I'll be happy to see her and all of my little cousins."

Her eyes lighted. "The kids! They'll be so thrilled to meet you!" She released him and stepped back. "Paige! Paige!"

Kurt raised a brow and said nothing, interested in how she was going to play this.

Paige appeared almost immediately with Phoebe in tow.

"What is it?" said a harried Paige. "A demon?"

"Better!" Piper cooed.

Paige stared.

Phoebe frowned. "Piper, what's wrong?"

Piper said nothing, merely stepping to the side.

Kurt threw a sheepish wave. "Hey, Pheebs. Surprise?"

Phoebe gave an exaggerated blink, her mouth fell open, and she then released a scream that, for Piper, recalled exactly why her sister had been selected to be a banshee all those years ago.

Then Phoebe actually levitated across the room to Kurt's side, blushing and stammering when he literally had to pull her down into his arms.

"Oh, Kurt!" she gushed, eyes spilling over with tears. "I can't believe you're really here! We thought you might not ... " She shook her head. "Forget it. All that matters is that you're here now."

"I am," he affirmed, "and nothing will separate us again." He pulled away and smiled before turning to Piper. "Incidentally, you may want to remember for the future about having people orb into your club when you're unsure as to whether your company is aware of magic."

Piper turned white.

"Since the Cleaners have yet to put in an appearance," he continued, "you may assume that I am. Aware, that is."

Phoebe blinked owlishly. "Are you ... I mean ..."

Kurt grinned. "We're all Warrens here, lady."

Her eyes lighted with glee and she screeched a shout of triumph, all but tackling him.

"You're a witch?" Piper breathed.

"I'm the witchiest," Kurt said. A raise of his eyebrow and every stick of furniture rose six feet off the ground, Piper and Phoebe with them.

"I'll say," Phoebe marveled. "When did you get your powers?"

"Oh, I've always had them," Kurt said offhandedly, "or, I should say, I've always been _aware_ of them. I didn't receive them fully until after Mom died and the binding was dissolved."

"What happened?" Piper suddenly demanded. "All those years ago? Why were we separated?"

He exhaled. "We were at the Manor and demons attacked."

The sisters gasped.

"You and Phoebe were knocked out and Prue had been cornered in the conservatory." His eyes darkened. "Then a demon went for Mom."

"But she didn't have any active powers!" a horrified Phoebe shouted.

"I did."

They stared and moved closer.

"What did you do?" asked a worried Piper. "Were you hurt? Was that why we couldn't ... "

"No," he said quickly, averting his eyes. "I held them off until Prue could get to me and vanquish them."

More staring.

"Kurt, you were _three_," Phoebe protested.

Embarrassed, he blushed. "Yeah, well, I'm kind of stupidly powerful." He gave a diffident shrug. "They were attacking my mother."

Piper's eyes lighted with fierce pride.

He sighed. "At any rate, once it was over, I had passed out from exhaustion and you and Leo starting arguing with Piper and Prue. That's when Dad intervened and called for Mom's whitelighter, Cassie. She decided, along with my parents and Prue, to give all of you memory dust so you would forget I was a witch."

Piper frowned. "Why would they do that?"

Phoebe groaned. "What did I do?"

Piper snickered.

Kurt gave her a wry smile. "You and Leo wanted to take me from Mom and Dad and raise me at the Manor with you and the sisters."

Phoebe balked. "I would never do that! I would never separate a child from his parents! I'm a mother! There's _no way_ ... " She trailed off and gave a dejected sigh. "I totally would have done something like that because I was selfish and arrogant."

"You were concerned," Kurt said sharply. "You were afraid the Underworld would learn about me and come after me and that Mom wouldn't be able to protect me."

"That is _not_ a good enough reason," she hissed.

Piper was cradling her head in her hands. "Please tell me I was against this."

He nodded. "You were. You and Prue were adamantly opposed, which set you against Leo. Eventually Prue took control. She led Mom in the spell to bind my powers and then dosed you both, as well as herself, with memory dust."

Phoebe's eyes were filled with tears. "That was Prue," she said softly. "Protecting family at all costs."

Kurt nodded. "Speaking of family, I believe there's a cousin I've yet to meet, though I've been looking forward to it for years." He turned and smiled. "Hello, Paige. Can I just tell you that you're absolutely gorgeous? You're definitely ours."

A blush ascended from her chest all the way up to her hairline. "How did you know about me?" she asked shyly. "Phoebe and Piper thought you didn't."

He waved a hand. "I have them on Google Alerts so when it popped up that a long-lost sister had taken over Prue's share of the club, I put two and two together."

He walked past a sputtering Phoebe and Piper toward Paige, who, though anxious, held her ground.

"I'm so glad you're here," he whispered. "I'm so glad I finally have the chance to tell you that."

She giggled and shrugged. "That's me! A happy accident."

He smiled and shook his head. "You weren't an accident. You were ... a surprise."

"What's the difference?" she asked, forcing a smile.

He stepped closer. "An accident is something that, if you had it to do over again, you wouldn't, but a surprise is something you didn't even know you wanted," he took her face in his hands, "until you got it."

Her breath hitched and tears began rolling down her face.

He pulled her toward him. "Welcome home," he murmured into her ear.

Before she could think twice of it, she had thrown her arms around him and was clinging to him as though her life depended on it. "I can see why they missed you so much."

"Not half as much as I missed them," he whispered.

"All right, break it up, you two!" Phoebe barked through her tears. "There will be time enough for massive cuddles later." She stepped in between them and turn toward Kurt with excited eyes. "Your powers, what are they?"

He swallowed heavily, which didn't go unnoticed by Paige, who frowned.

"Telekinesis," he said.

Phoebe nodded, eyes gleaming. Piper stilled.

"Astral projection."

Piper inhaled sharply.

"Cryokinesis."

Phoebe took a step back. "Those are Prue's powers," she said in a shaky voice. "Well, except the cryo stuff. That was past!Prue."

He licked his lips. "Empathy."

She startled.

"Telepathy."

"I get what you meant about stupidly powerful," muttered a wide-eyed Paige.

He eyed her. "There's more."

"How can there be _more_?" Phoebe demanded.

He winced. "I'm going to need some help explaining that one. We should probably go to the Manor."

Piper blinked. "Why? Do we need Leo?"

Kurt cocked his head. "He might be able to help with this, yes."

Paige blew out a breath, nodded, and held out her arms. "Grab on."

Her sisters raced to do just that.

Kurt winked. "Race you."

And then he was gone.

Phoebe stared. "What the f ..."

Paige had already orbed them out.

* * *

><p>Buffy reluctantly let Angel into the compound. She wasn't exactly thrilled by his presence; having Spike there was already more than enough. She still couldn't believe he had shown up after Wolfram and Hart had fallen, wanting to Do Good.<p>

Willow, Faith, and Giles had definitely been against it. As usual, she had acted first, overruled them, and was now suffering the consequences. Spike didn't understand why they couldn't pick up with their _relationship_ as though nothing had happened.

Faith, despite her deep love for Angel, couldn't stomach the idea of a Slayer and vampire together, and loudly proclaimed this whenever the mood struck her, which was often. Willow was neutral with Spike, but his presence unsettled her. She kept looking around for Xander to intercede when Spike became a handful, which was with great frequency. Then she remembered that Xander wasn't there, _why_ he wasn't there, and then she got frustrated with Buffy all over again.

Giles was ... Giles. He was furious with himself for once again siding with Buffy over Xander, even if there hadn't been an explicit disagreement. Xander, as was his wont, had cut off all communication with everyone but Faith and Willow. He refused to speak with Buffy or Giles, and Dawn had followed suit. It had only been exacerbated when Angel had sent Connor to Xander. Along with Nysa, Xander had formed the New Scoobies and the old ones were feeling the loss rather keenly.

And now Angel was here and it was just going to stir up everything again.

Buffy sighed as she walked Angel to the main building, consciously disregarding the glares the fledgling Slayers practicing their drills on the grounds were leveling her way.

"Let me guess," Angel muttered. "Pro-Xander?"

She snorted. "Who isn't?"

He pursed his lips.

"Don't get me started," she snapped. "I know I was wrong and there's nothing I can do about it until he consents to speak with me." She sighed forlornly. "I was stupid."

"You were worried."

"I was jealous," she spat. "Sam's arguably the best thing that's happened to him and I refused to see it because I didn't want to admit that we've lost too damn much in this war."

"Anya's death was not your fault."

Her laugh was bitter. "You telling me that doesn't make it true. I put her there and she died for it." She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

He nodded and fell silent.

She threw open the door and stormed inside. "Angel's here!" she announced to no one.

Predictably, Faith was the first to fly down the stairs, tackling Angel with a hug.

"What up, Fang!" she cheerfully screeched.

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Hello, Faith. How are you?"

"Five by five. Just got off the phone with your kid."

"How is Connor doing?" he asked after a beat.

They both ignored Buffy's sudden stillness.

"Cool," Faith said. "He's cool and Pip's cool and ... the rest ... are cool. Sam's brother just got into town. Con's thinking they're going to have to clue him in on the family secret sooner rather than later."

Angel shrugged. "He's a hunter, right? He should be okay with it."

She nodded. "That's what I told him."

His eyes narrowed. "What is it you don't want to tell me?"

She blew out a breath, glanced at Buffy, and turned back toward him. "I'm really not sure you want to know, Fang."

He sighed. "Faith, I sent Connor to Xander for a reason. Despite everything - or perhaps because of it - I trust Xander with the life of my son. I know he'll do right by Connor."

She turned defensive and had no idea why. "And what if doing right means more to Con than you ever thought it might? What if it means Xander is the one he calls daddy?"

It was like a physical blow. He stepped back, devastated. "Does he?"

Faith blinked and nodded worriedly. She was probably overstepping here, but she rather Buffy and Angel attack her than show up at Xander's house and all hell breaking loose."He overhead X and Sam talking. Sam was all torn up you and B would try to take Con and Pip back. He told Xander ... " she swallowed " ... he told Xander that he knew Dean showing up now meant things were going to change."

Angel and Buffy stood at attention.

"We've all known it was going to happen, that there was something beyond the First or that was going to rise in its wake," she said. "Sam and Xander think Dean's arrival means it's going to happen sooner rather later." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, Sam said he just wanted more time with his husband and kids."

Buffy flinched. She was still desolate that she hadn't even been invited to her best friend's wedding.

"I wasn't invited either," Angel said, rolling his eyes.

Buffy scoffed. Did Angel really think Xander would have invited him regardless of their current circumstances?

"You couldn't have been there anyway," Faith said. "No one could."

"You were," Buffy seethed.

Faith flipped her off. "At the reception, yeah, but not at the actual wedding. Not allowed."

Buffy's brow furrowed. "What do you mean you weren't allowed?"

Faith hesitated. "No one was," she finally said, slowly and carefully. "Only the grooms, the wedding party, and the kids."

Angel frowned. "That doesn't sound like Xander. He would never exclude Willow from his wedding."

Buffy scowled.

Faith looked at him, then at Buffy, and then gestured toward the front door. She opened it and stepped out and they wordlessly followed.

"Food!" Faith screamed.

All of the Slayers stopped whatever training they were doing and raced inside.

Faith began walking, trusting the others to keep up. When they entered the woods adjoining the property, Buffy and Angel exchanged an anxious glance. After they had walked about a hundred yards, Faith stopped and turned toward them.

"This doesn't leave these woods, got it?"

They nodded.

"Wait," Buffy said. "You said the wedding party _and_ the kids. I just assumed Connor was Xander's best man and Dawn was Sam's, well, best woman. They weren't?"

Faith bit her lip and shook her head. "Naw, Dawn and Connor were the only guests. The, uh, the best man was some dude named Jesse McNally."

Buffy's eyes widened. "And Sam's attendant?" she whispered.

Faith averted her eyes. "Anya," she said tersely. "She approved. And, um, their moms walked them down the aisle."

Buffy frowned. She knew Sam's mother had died when he was just a baby. She thought it was incredibly sweet that, in their bizarre lives, that she could be there for him on his big day. But ... "When did Xander's mother die? He got them out of Sunnydale before the fall."

"It was Joyce," Faith murmured. "She walked Xander down the aisle."

Buffy turned and clutched her stomach.

Faith shook her head again. "Look, just let me say this, and let me tell you upfront that I won't be answering any detailed questions because I really have no fucking clue what's going on, okay?"

More nodding and Buffy turned back around. Angel wisely said nothing.

She sighed. "It wasn't that Xan and Sam didn't want people at their wedding; it was that no one else could physically attend because it didn't take place here."

"In the country?" asked a confused Buffy.

"In this dimension."

"What?" asked a floored Angel after a long moment of silence.

"The wedding didn't take place in this dimension," she reiterated. "It couldn't, because of who performed it."

Buffy threw up her hands. She was tired of _Truth and Consequences_. "Who ... "

"Queen C."

Angel stumbled backward and fell on his ass, staring up at her with huge, wounded eyes.

She dropped her head and sighed. "When Xander had the heart attack and was in a coma, remember what we ... well, we all know what we thought," she said roughly.

Angel nodded dumbly as Buffy choked on a sob.

"The reason it took so long for him to come out of it was because he wasn't _here_. He was with Cordelia."

"Oh, my god," Buffy whispered.

"Yeah," Faith said, nodding, "that's a big part of it." She was being purposefully oblique and hoped Buffy and Angel would dwell and think upon her words later. She couldn't trust that someone or something wasn't eavesdropping.

"Faith," Angel said lowly, "what happened to Xander?"

She shifted her gaze. "He came back with something ... extra."

"Not like I did, right?" trilled a worried Buffy.

"No," Angel said, shaking his head, eyes remaining on Faith. "If Cordelia officiated his marriage to Sam, it means theirs is a holy union, one blessed by the Powers That Be."

Buffy's eyes bugged.

"As a Higher Being, she's their representative even though she can't manifest her form in this dimension." His eyes narrowed. "She intervened, didn't she? He wasn't supposed to survive."

Faith inhaled sharply, eyes watering. "No," she said softly.

Buffy bit her lip and choked down a gasp.

"Is he an agent of the Powers That Be?" he demanded.

"No," she said honestly, "he's something else."

"Do you know what that is?"

She shook her head. "No." She hesitated. "Well, not exactly. He wouldn't tell me. He said it was safer if I didn't know."

"Why wasn't he supposed to live?" Buffy barked. "Who decided that?"

"Something beyond us," Faith answered, "but they're nothing when compared to the power Queen C wields, so she grabbed Xander when she had the chance to make sure they couldn't get their hands on him."

"Who?" Angel growled.

Faith looked at him. "The Elders."

He hissed and drew back. "I wondered," he said. "I'm surprised they haven't interfered until now, given how powerful Willow has become."

Buffy threw her head back and sighed. "Who or what are the Elders and what would they want with him?"

Angel regarded her. "There's a lot you don't know about magic, Buffy, and you wouldn't necessarily know if you didn't know the questions to ask. As strong as Willow is, she's a dilettante. She really has no idea about magic or its ramifications and, quite frankly, it's almost criminal that Giles hasn't done more to educate her." He looked back to Faith. "How much do you know?"

"Not much," she admitted. "X knows that Red isn't always that ethical when it comes to her mind-reading deal."

Buffy colored. She'd had more than her share of experience with Willow peeking into her mind and didn't care for it at all. "But she can't always control it," she offered halfheartedly.

"Yes, she can," Angel said. "She simply chooses not to." He sighed. "Look, I love Willow, Buffy, but she's arrogant. She's incredibly powerful, _too _powerful, and doesn't respect what magic is and what it can do. She hasn't bothered to learn her limits and therefore mistakenly believes she has none. She's wrong. Eventually there will come a reckoning."

Buffy considered his words. "It's already started, hasn't it?" she asked Faith. "We haven't found a new Slayer since Xander left Africa. There's a reason for that."

Faith nodded slowly. "She activated all the Potentials, B. Thing is, Potentials give birth to Potentials, so if there are no more Potentials ... "

All of the color bled from Buffy's face.

"This ain't your fault," Faith said roughly. "It _ain't_. We were on a deadline and did what we had to with the cards we were dealt. If we hadn't, the world would have ended. It's that simple." She exhaled. "So we have a new problem. Okay. We'll deal with it like we always do."

"Is this why Xander separated from the group?" Angel asked. "So that Willow couldn't take this information from his mind?"

"No," Buffy said immediately. "It can't be. After Kingman's Bluff, her magic doesn't work on him." She startled and then blinked. "Does _any_ magic work on him?"

"No," Faith whispered.

"What are the Elders?" Buffy asked.

"They're in charge of whitelighters, who are guardian angels for witches."

"Then why doesn't Willow have one?"

"They don't deal with her type of witch." Faith held up her hand. "There are two types: natural witches, who are born with their powers, and godlings, who borrow powers from gods."

"Willow's a godling," Buffy guessed. "She and Amy were always calling on that Hecate lady."

Faith snickered but quickly sobered and nodded. "Yeah. Anyway, the Elders deal only with natural witches."

"What do they want with Xander?" Buffy wondered. "He's not a witch." Her eyes widened. "Is he?"

"No. See, the Elders assign whitelighters to natural witches and ... future whitelighters."

"So Xander's a, what, future whitelighter?"

Faith nodded.

Angel pressed his lips into a very thin line, not liking where this was going.

"Are you telling me they engineered Xander's heart attack?" bellowed a shrill Buffy. She was definitely in the mood to slay some Elder ass.

"No," Faith said, "but they had something in store for him. See, whitelighters are, well, they're dead. They're witches and mortals who die and then become whitelighters, assigned to look after new generations of witches."

"It was Cordelia," Angel deduced. "She got wind of their stupid little plan and gave Xander a heart attack to call him to her."

"It was the only way," Faith argued. "Like you said, she can't manifest her form here. If she had used a third party, the Elders would have been alerted that she knew what they were up to. So when Xander temporarily died, the Queen snuck in there and scooped his tight ass up so that they couldn't get their hands on him."

She curled a lip. "They already tried once." She glared out at the dense copse of pines. "They got Anya instead."

Buffy roared, picked up a ridiculously-sized boulder, and sent it hurtling into the forest.

"What about this something extra?" Buffy asked.

Faith sighed. "As _you_ said, magic don't work on One Eye, but the Queen gave him this gift with purchase deal. It's called communion. It means he has the power to interface with Higher Beings, specifically Cordelia, and the Powers That Be."

"He's a Champion," Angel said.

Faith nodded proudly.

"So something's coming, Cordelia knows what it is and is trying to stop it, and she's selected Xander as her agent."

"That makes sense," Buffy said. "She trusts him more than anyone else."

Angel scowled.

"You know it's true," Buffy snapped. "If that stupid kiss with Willow ... " Her eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," Faith whispered. "That was all planned."

"What was?" Angel asked. "That kiss in the factory? She planned to break up Xander and Cordy? Why? Over a _crush_?"

"Not Red," Faith said. "Jasmine."

He reeled back as if struck as Buffy hissed.

"That fucking bitch had zeroed on in the Queen being her ... host ... back in the Dale. If that was going to happen, she needed the Queen in LA with Fang, not on the Hellmouth with X. She needed Queen to bond with that demon to make her strong enough to carry the pregnancy to term. She had that fucking asshole Skip convince Cordelia it was the only way she could stay with you, Fang, and still help people. He told her the price for doing that was her _humanity_ and she paid it because she was one totally fierce bitch."

Buffy hoped that Skip was still alive so that she might kill him. Killing something sounded really awesome right now, be it demons or Elders. At this point, she wasn't sure there was a difference.

"So that fucking she-demon had picked her mommy, but if the bitch was going to be born, she needed a daddy too, so she brought about the prophecy concerning Connor. That fucking whore raped the both of them!"

Buffy shuddered with a secondhand violation so profound it stole her breath. She leaned over and vomited.

Faith began twisting her hands. "You know how this shit works, right? How the Powers act when something like this happens?"

"Balance," Angel snapped. "Goddamn Oracles!"

She nodded. "So if a child of two vampires was created to facilitate such an evil, then another child had to be created to balance it out; a child of power, of prophecy, who would be entrusted to a Champion who would oversee it."

Buffy brought a shaking hand to cover her mouth. "Dawn," she whispered through her fingers.

Faith nodded again. "But you can't just conceive a human out of thin air. Yeah, Fang and Darla did the nasty and she got knocked up, but Dawn _wasn't_ conceived - she was created. For that to happen, those monks had to have some preexisting genetic material."

"What the hell are you saying?" Angel whispered.

"They borrowed some Slayer essence to help reinforce the body to hold the power Dawn possesses." She ran her tongue across dry lips. "They took that from me, B, not you."

Buffy stared. "So you're her sister," she said dully.

"No," Faith hotly denied. "You are. You're her _family_. Don't ever be confused about that."

Buffy blinked back tears. "But why you? I'm not trying to antagonize you; I just don't understand. Why make her from you and then give her to me? Dawn probably would have been a lot safer with you. Angel could have hid you both in LA and it would have been a lot harder for Glory to find her there than on the fucking Hellmouth."

"Because of who her father is," she whispered. "Because he created me like they created her."

"Xander," Angel whispered.

Buffy shot him a quizzical look, further confused when Faith nodded.

"He created the Second Line. There had only ever been one Slayer, but the Primitive sees all and saw what would happen with Sunnydale and what Red would do, so She made a contingency plan. When Xander resuscitated Buffy, he spawned a new Line through Kendra. I'm of that Line."

He cocked his head. "So, conceivably, that line could be extended if you had a child."

"If I had a daughter," Faith muttered, "but it's a moot point and I would never get knocked up and curse some little baby with all of this bullshit. That ain't right and it's not fair."

"No, it's not," Buffy seethed.

Faith turned toward her. "It's true for you, too. When you died the second time, Red might have had the mojo to bring you back, but she didn't have the Heart."

Buffy inhaled deeply. "Xander brought me back. Again."

Faith chuckled darkly. "Yeah, saving Slayers is kind of his thing."

"So Buffy's no longer part of the Original Line," Angel surmised. "When Xander brought her back, he essentially spawned a Third Line."

She nodded.

"But what does this have to do with Dawn?" asked a confused Buffy.

"Xander's the Father of the Second and Third Lines, B," Faith said patiently. She raised a brow. "If the monks took essence from me to help make her, it stands to reason that, as the Father of the Slayer ... "

Buffy reached forward and grabbed her shoulders. "What are you telling me? Are you saying Xander is Dawn's _father_? Her biological father?"

"Yeah, and those monks, like Jasmine, didn't bother asking if he wanted to be a parent."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Oh, god. Oh, my god."

"Then who's her mother?" Angel asked.

Faith kept her eyes on Buffy. "Other than him, who was the person closest to Dawn?"

Tears spilled forth from Buffy's eyes. "T-Tara," she warbled. She released a harsh sob. "After Xander talked Willow down off the ledge and we got back to the house, Dawn was in the bedroom, cradling Tara's body and singing some lullaby that Mom used to sing us. She was just sitting on the floor, Tara in her arms, singing and staring out the window, not seeing anything beyond it."

She closed her eyes. She could still see Tara lying on the floor, her hair spilling across Dawn's lap like a halo of liquid gold, the gaping hole in her chest, those wide blue eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling above. She could still smell the pool of blood. She had always smelled it in the room for the rest of their time in that house. It reeked of iron filings and copper pots.

Bile splashed up against the back of her throat.

"Is Dawn a witch?" asked a disturbed Angel. "Willow told me Tara inherited her power from her mother."

"I don't know," Faith said. "I guess it's possible."

"Dawn has an instinctive feel for magic and spells. I thought she had learned it from Anya, but ..." Buffy murmured. "Does Xander know?" she asked, voice haunted.

Faith nodded. "So does Sam."

Buffy cringed as she thought about all of the times she had intimated that she was uncomfortable with Sam being around Dawn. Now she knew that Xander was Dawn's father, that Sam saw Dawn as his own _child_, she was sickened and deeply ashamed.

"Back to the Elders," Angel interrupted, desperate to piece all of this together. "They want Xander because they've deemed him a future whitelighter. Obviously something was to have happened to him that would have resulted in his death, as that's the only way for him to become a whitelighter. Cordelia intervened, giving him a literal death while keeping him out of their clutches. He's now able to speak directly with her."

Faith nodded. "It's the Queen's Crusade and X is her Knight Templar."

"The White Knight," he murmured.

"It's got to be more than that," said a decisive Buffy. "There must be tons of future whitelighters, so what's so special about Xander? Why would they bring about a plan that would basically murder him all so that he could turn around and be the therapist for some random witch?" She shook her head. "There's a lot more going on."

Faith nodded. "I think so, and so does X, but we don't know what and neither does the Queen. She might technically rank above the Elders, but that doesn't mean she knows all of their secrets." She smirked. "Not yet."

"Let's think about this," Angel said slowly. "Consider who Xander is. He's the Father of the Line and the Heart of the Slayer. He's the champion of a Higher Being. What else?"

Buffy studied Faith. "What did you mean before when you said it was a moot point?"

"Huh?"

"When Angel said that if you had a child, it would most likely be a Slayer. You said you weren't going to get pregnant just to make a new Slayer, but you also said it was a moot point. What does that mean?"

Faith's complexion mottled. "If I tell you this, you will never tell it to anyone else. _Ever_. _Especially_ not Xander."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. She was already regretting asking.

"I can't have kids," Faith muttered. "Not after we fought. The knife ... I had a hysterectomy while I was in the coma."

Buffy began backing up, shaking her head in denial.

"Aw, knock it off," Faith complained. "Look, it happened. I was fucking crazy and was trying to blow up _all_ the shit. I'd tried to take out the fucking Champion to the Powers That Be. If you hadn't put me down, someone or something else would have and I probably wouldn't be here to tell you all of this."

"It about more than that," Angel said quietly.

"Shut the fuck up, Fang," Faith warned, closing her eyes as her body trembled.

"You were pregnant when you and Buffy fought, weren't you?"

"Goddamn it, _fuck you!_" Faith screamed, throwing a left hook and sending him sprawling back several hundred feet and crashing into a tree.

"Is that true?" Buffy whimpered. "Were you pregnant, Faith? Did I kill your baby? Did I kill Xander's baby?"

Faith exhaled slowly, opened her eyes, and turned toward her. "No," she said with surprising compassion, ignoring Angel as he reapproached. "You didn't kill my baby, Buffy." She fixed her mouth into a grim line. "That was Quentin Travers. When I was in the coma, the Council assumed control of my ... affairs, I guess you could say. I was a minor. My mother's dead and I have no fucking clue who my pops is or if he's even still alive. Travers ordered the pregnancy terminated."

Angel and Buffy growled.

"Why!" Buffy screeched.

"That's why he came after you in LA," Angel hissed.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Buffy cautiously nodded. That was fine. Faith didn't have to talk about it. She didn't need the details. Buffy herself was going to talk about it extensively with Giles. There were rumors that some of the Council had survived the First's little assassination coup and were trying to regroup under the leadership of Travers.

They had mostly been ignoring it because they posed no real threat. Giles has seized control of the assets and formed the New Council. The current Slayers knew of Buffy and Faith's trouble with the Old Guard and wouldn't be lining up to take orders from a bunch of old farts who pontificated from on high as if they were the beginning and end of all things.

But if Travers _was_ alive, Buffy was going to find and kill him very, _very_ slowly.

"Did Cordy give him any defense?" she asked, bowing to Faith's wish to change the subject. "Other than being able to communicate with her, I mean?"

She stepped on Angel's foot - _hard_ - when he looked as though he were about to redirect the conversation back to the previous topic.

"She gave him his own whitelighter," Faith said, "and we're talking about one seriously _scary_ and protective witch." She looked at Angel and raised a brow. "Ever heard of the Charmed Ones?"

His eyes widened. "Oh, _fuck_."


End file.
